You Needed Me
by Rachel D
Summary: The trials and tribulations of some of the former 8-year-old sitting charges, now 25. Slight BSC/ER crossover.  COMPLETED!
1. Prologue:  Jake

_**YOU NEEDED ME**_

A/N: I'd been toying around with this idea for a while, and considering what I'd just experienced in my personal life, I thought it'd make a good story.

**PROLOGUE: Jake**

"All right, men, let's hit the showers!" I called to the wrestling team as I blew my whistle. Almost immediately, I was nearly knocked over by ten sweating young guys as they ran by me on their way to the locker and shower rooms. You know what? I think there should be a clause in every coach's contract that clearly sates, "Warning: if you accept this position, expect to be turned into roadkill by your own students."

I went to my office, hung my whistle on the hook beside my desk, and sat down with a bottle of wild berry Propel and a copy of _Sports Illustrated_. I'd been doing this job for about three years now, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Wait, you're probably wondering who I am, right? Well, let me tell you.

Hi, I'm Jake Kuhn, and I'm twenty-five years old. (Mom still calls me Jakey sometimes, which I never liked, even as a kid. Mothers.) I currently live in New Haven, Connecticut, with my girlfriend, Charlotte Johanssen. She just got her doctorate degree in psychology, and as you may have guessed, I'm the wrestling coach at Oakdale High, home of the Oakdale Cadets, and I love my job. I still remember my freshman year of high school when I proved to my track coach that I could lose weight. I ran everywhere I went, worked out twice a day, watched what I ate, and by the time track season ended, I'd lost twenty pounds.

I wasn't always this fit, though. When I was a kid, I was a bit on the chubby side. Not to the point where it was endangering my health, mind you, but some of the other kids still called me fatso, wide-load, doughboy, country virtuoso Roy Clark, you name it. In short, I was one miserable kid. In fact, I still remember getting into a fight with this one kid in third grade because of it, and the two of us having to stay after school for three days. Not only did he call me fatso, but he'd also been picking on my sister Laurel. Looking back on those days, my first thought always was, _If only that douchebag could see me now._

Well, enough about me. You're probably wondering about Charlotte, right? Well, I can't say I blame you. She's terrific.

First of all, her mother is a doctor. An M.D., specifically, which is why Charlotte decided to tackle the wonderful world of psychology, as my Bobeshi Kuhn would say. Dr. Johanssen works in the ER at Stoneybrook General Hospital, and it turns out, she'd mentored Janine Kishi, the older sister of one of my former baby-sitters. She may also be an ER doc, but she's assisted on a few surgeries. Karen Brewer—now Hudson—once told me about the time she'd assisted on her tonsillectomy when she was 10.

Anyway, Charlotte works in an office building somewhat catty-cornered from the school. We take turns driving each day, and park our red Pontiac GrandAm next to the maple tree in the school parking lot. I've often heard stories from people who have that color vehicle having rotten luck on the road, such as accidents, flat tires, or hitting deer. So far, we haven't had to deal with that. Well, actually, I hope we _do _hit a deer one day, because then we could have the poor bastard for dinner, if it's not diseased.

We have a wonderful group of friends, and when we were kids, were all former charges of the Baby-sitters Club, the agency our parents called whenever they needed a baby-sitter. Some of us even got to be honorary members when we got older. It was started by Kristy Thomas-Everett, who was also my former softball coach. She's now married and has two boys: seven-year-old Daniel and three-year-old Tony. The current generation is led by Laura Perkins, who's now a senior at SHS. You already know about me and Charlotte, so I'll tell you about the others.

Nick Pike lives in Brooklyn, where he's in his last year of seminary. In the spring, he's going to be an ordained Presbyterian minister. At first, I was a little surprised by his career choice, because when I knew Nick, he was the pest and practical joker of the Pike bunch—basically the kind of sibling you couldn't stand, but also couldn't stay mad at for very long. But I, for one, respect his decision, and I'm glad he's doing so well.

James Hobart currently lives in Chicago, and he's just started his internship as a doctor. He'd done his med school rotation at Northwestern Hospital, and really hoped to stay there, until he got the letter telling him he'd matched at Cook Co. General Hospital. Either way, we're all proud of James. He'd graduated from Duke University, Magna Cum Laude, class salutatorian—both high school and college—and with honors. He also scored in the top ten percent on the MCATs _and _the top twenty-five percent on the board exams.

One more thing about James. He and his family came to America from Australia when he was eight, so he has a slightly thick accent, which is why he and his brothers got picked on so much. Unlike certain people, however, we liked the Hobarts immediately.

Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold are twins. They live in both sides of a duplex in the 2000 block of Rosedale Road in our hometown of Stoneybrook, which is about a half-hour drive from Stamford, where a lot of our parents work. Marilyn teaches music at the Jeremy Brewer Day Center in Stamford, a sheltered workshop for disabled people that was started by Karen's paternal grandfather. Carolyn teaches sixth-grade science at SMS. They may be identical, but once you get to know them, it's very easy to tell them apart.

If I had to pick the true individual of the group, one name comes to mind: Becca Ramsey. She and Charlotte have been best friends since we were eight. And by true individual, I don't mean the fact that she's the only black person in the group, but unlike most of us, she's a real thespian. And yes, this is the same girl who, according to her sister Jessi—another of our former baby-sitters—had such intense stage fright that she actually passed out onstage during a performance of her second-grade play, _Little Red Riding Hood._

When we were eleven, Nick and Becca were members of the Stoneybrook Kids, which is a children's show choir that was started by Mr. Drubek, the now-retired choir director at SMS, and Jason Everett, yet another of our former baby-sitters, as well as Kristy's husband. He was also a hero to a lot of us kids, namely Kristy's two little stepsiblings, Karen and Andrew Brewer. The group started when I was finishing seventh grade, and it's now run by two alumni: Nancy Dawes-Korman, Bill Korman's wife, and Nina Marshall, Andrew's fiancée. They're between the ages of seven and eleven, and Kristy's brother Charlie's kids are both in it. Her nephew is a member, and her niece is a roadie. And you know what? If I hadn't been so busy with sports, or had any musical talent whatsoever, I would've auditioned in a second.

Oh, that reminds me. When we were eight, Kristy had her own softball team called Kristy's Krushers. It was for kids who were either too young or too scared to try out for Little League, which some of us eventually did. In fact, I was a shortstop, and Charlotte was a cheerleader. The team only lasted a couple of seasons, because Kristy got too busy when she started high school, and well, let's just say that when it came to softball, we were really good at table tennis.

Nowadays, Becca now lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and she's currently rehearsing for an off-Broadway production of _The Color Purple, _which is set to open in early November. The last time I talked to her on Facebook, she said she'd talk to the director about getting comp tickets for all of us.

Okay, back to me. After a few more minutes of reading about U-Conn's chances of making it to the Rose Bowl this year, and listening to ZZ Top's "Cheap Sunglasses" on the radio, I threw my Propel bottle away, put on my Red Sox baseball cap, and left the office. It was time to meet Charlotte.

As I turned the corner, I saw a group of kids crowded near the stairs at the end of the hall, and heard the sound of two girls going at it, with the others egging them on. "Why me?" I muttered as I ran over to the fight.

"This'll fucking teach you to steal my lunch, you little bitch!" one of them screamed.

"Oh, yeah? As if I'd mess up my stomach with that crap!" the other retorted.

"Hey! Hey, break it up, you two!" I shouted as I pushed my way through the crowd and separated the two girls. Sr. Gomez, the Spanish teacher, happened to pass by, and ran over to assist.

"She started it, Coach!" the black girl protested. She had shoulder-length black hair with beads woven into it, and was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans. The other girl had reddish-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was wearing a gray T-shirt with a picture of Brian from _Family Guy _that read "SARCASM IS A FREE SERVICE I OFFER", and a tan pleated skirt.

"I don't care who started what, we're going to the office," I shot back as I grabbed the black girl's wrist. "Now, come with me, both of you."

"All right, the rest of you wrestle-maniacs go home, school's over," Sr. Gomez addressed the others as he clapped his hand down on the other girl's shoulder and we headed to the office.

"And don't start with me, because I was almost knocked over by the wrestling team a few minutes ago," I told them.

"Poor you," one of them muttered. I pretended not to hear her, but I did, loud and clear. I didn't care, though. I just wanted to get this over with and meet Charlotte. All the while, I couldn't help thinking, _How lucky can you get?_


	2. Chapter 1:  Jake

A/N: In case you're wondering, the bit about red vehicles being unlucky is in reference to a joke my dad made when he wrecked his minivan after he hit a deer. And in case you're wondering, _bobeshi_ is Yiddish for grandmother. The Kuhns are Jewish, so yes, he would address his grandmother that way.

**CHAPTER 1: Jake**

The four of us arrived at the office. 典hanks, _Se r. _I can take it from here,I told Sr. Gomez.

_哲__o problemo, amigo,_he answered as he left.

添ou two wait here,I instructed the girls as I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket. 的 need to make a quick call. I dialed Charlotte's number, and she picked up on the third ring.

滴i, Char. Look, I'm going to be a little late,I told her, and I explained the situation.

滴oo, boy,Charlotte said sympathetically. 的'm guessing the school board didn't like your idea of adding Anger Management 101 to the curriculum, huh?"

I couldn't help laughing. That's the one thing I've always loved about Charlotte. Even if you had the ultimate shitfest of a day, she could still make you laugh.

添ou might say that,I agreed. 鉄o, anyway, babe, if we don't have time to actually cook dinner, we can go to that sub shop you like, unless you prefer Cici's."

鉄ounds good to me,she said. 的'm with a patient right now, but I shouldn't be too much longer. I'll see you when I get off, okay?"

徹kay, see you later,I agreed. Bye. After I hung up, I turned to the girls, opened the office door for them, and ushered them inside.

展hat seems to be the problem, Coach?Principal Martin asked as I motioned for the girls to sit down.

典hese two were going at it, and Sr. Gomez and I stopped them,I explained. 的 don't know what their deal is, so I'll let them tell you. Then I turned to the girls and said, 敵o ahead, we're listening."

展ell,the black girl, whose name was Amelia, began, 泥arla here took the banana pudding out of my lunch today."

_That's it? _I thought in disbelief. I know kids get into little scraps about trivial things, but come on!

鉄o?the principal asked as both of us folded our arms.

鉄o, she's always whining about how much better my lunches are,Amelia said defensively. 的f you ask me, her mama needs to buy better food."

Darla started to stand up to protest, but I motioned for her to sit back down. 哲ot another word,I ordered.

鄭nything else?"

展ell, _she _stole the idea for the dress I was going to wear to the Fall Frolic next Friday night,Darla fumed. 的 was going to wear this hot pink knee-length dress with spaghetti straps and ruffles around the skirt."

徹h, come on, everybody knows you look like a rose in traction when you wear that color,Amelia taunted.

That made Darla really mad. 的s that so?she snapped. 展ell, at least I don't buy out the entire Mary Kay counter at K-Mart, like _some _people I know."

展ell, at least my face don't look like the Rocky Mountains."

展ell, at least my breath doesn't smell like a busted sewer line!"

典hat's enough!the principal barked, slamming his fist down on the desktop. He did it so hard that the picture of his Boston Terrier almost fell to the floor. Luckily, I caught it and put it back in its place. 鄭ll right, for the next three days, both of you are to have thirty-minute detention, not to mention Saturday school. And if I hear of anything like this again, you're suspended for a week. Is that clear?"

After the girls nodded, the principal said, 徹kay, you're excused. Go see Ms. James in the detention room for your first day."

As soon as I heard that name, part of me actually felt a little sorry for them. You see, Ms. James was a Marine before she was hired to be the girls' gym teacher, and from what I've been told, she's almost always yelling at the kids to be quiet. She reminds me of the time I'd played Andy Hobart in my college production of _The Star-Spangled Girl, _and whenever I see her walking down the hall, I'd always think, _From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli...I'm glad I'm chained to the steampipe, 'cause I wouldn't miss this for anything!_

The girls got up and left the office. 典hanks, Coach,the principal said.

鄭nytime,I answered as I left the office. On my way out the front door, I wondered if Charlotte's day had been any worse than mine.

I soon found out when I saw the half-empty bottle of barbecue sauce lying on the hood of the car, and the windshield smeared with it. 鉄on of a _bitch!_I growled through clenched teeth, grabbing the bottle and flinging it into a nearby trash can. That's when I noticed a pocket knife lying on the asphalt next to the gray Jeep beside me, which belonged to Mrs. Segura, the Drama teacher, as well as the hole in the driver's side tire. I shook my head, just picturing the look on her face when she saw this.

典hey got you, too, huh, Coach?a voice asked. I looked up and saw Mrs. Martelli, the biology teacher, unlocking her white station wagon in the next row.

添eah, but Mrs. Segura got it the worst,I sighed. 的 just saw the knife on the ground and the hole in the her tire. You know, just between you and me, I don't think there's anything wrong with these little hellions that can't be cured by going back to the good old days of corporal punishment."

Mrs. Martelli nodded in agreement. 滴ey, if it makes you feel any better, I got eggs on my car last week. Really rotten ones, too."

徹h, that's lovely,I groaned. 展ell, I'll see you tomorrow. I've got to meet Charlotte."

徹h, yeah. How's she like her job?"

鉄he loves it. In fact, she just got her degree."

典hat's great, Coach. Tell her we're all rooting for her, and there'll probably be a position for her at the school someday. Oh, and I'll tell Mrs. Segura about her car, too."

I nodded, and while she made got in her car and started to leave, I started trying to clean off my windshield, which was a real pain in the ass, if you know how barbecue sauce is. Looks like I'll be shelling out my last fifteen bucks at the car wash.


	3. Chapter 2:  Charlotte

**CHAPTER 2: Charlotte**

I was in my office and talking to a patient, a little six-year-old girl with dark blond hair in a ponytail and brown eyes. She was sitting cross-legged on the cream-colored couch across from me, staring at the floor and playing with her toes. On the floor in front of her were a pair of purple Crocs with pictures of Dora the Explorer and Boots the Monkey on them. The only sound in the room was the sound of ocean waves playing on the radio. Like some of my patients who are children, she was really reluctant to open up and talk, so I kept reminding myself to be kind and not push. After all, what good would that do? But at the same time, my heart just ached to see how badly damaged this poor child was, and part of me really wanted the session to be over.

"Have you been sleeping well?" I asked. She nodded.

"Any dreams, good or bad?" She shook her head.

"You know, I hardly ever dream when I sleep. I used to when I was your age, though. My friend, Becca,once told me that when she's trying to sleep, she imagines a really hard math problem on the blackboard, and just erasing it until it's gone. Then she imagines that she's someplace she really loves, like her grandparents' house in New Jersey. Have you ever tried that?" Again she shook her head and uncrossed her legs.

That's when I noticed her toenails. Each one was a different color, and when her feet were angled just the right way, they sparkled in the sunlight. "That's really pretty," I commented. "Did your mommy do that?"

"Sissy," she whispered, still looking at the floor. Granted, it was one of the only things she said to me during the whole session, but it was better than nothing.

"Your sister, huh?" I asked. She nodded.

"Do you see her a lot?" She shook her head.

"Do you mind if I ask how old your sister is?" She held up all of her fingers, telling me that her sister was ten.

That's when the little digital timer on my desk started flashing. Our time was up. "Okay, Molly (not her real name, by the way), that's it for today," I said, putting down my pad and pen. "I'll go tell your daddy we're finished, and I'll see you next week, okay?" She nodded and put her shoes back on as I shut off the radio, got up, and headed for the door.

After telling the girl's father that we were done, and to schedule the next session with the receptionist, I went down the hall to the ladies' room. On my way back to my supervisor's office, I almost collided with a little black-haired boy who looked about seven or eight years old. "Whoa, careful there!" I exclaimed. But he was too busy singing the _SpongeBob _theme at the top of his lungs, so he didn't even notice me. But his mother sure did, and she was not happy.

"Sorry," she said to me, then she turned around and shouted down the hall, "DOMINIC, YOU GET BACK HERE _RIGHT NOW!"_

I'll tell you, that woman could've woken the dead, as loud as she was. That was all it took for the kid to come slinking back with that all-too-familiar look every kid gets when they're about to get ripped into. Then, grabbing his arm and yanking him back to the waiting area, she said, "Now, do you want to have a good day or a bad day?"

_I'll have to remember that when I have kids, _I thought.

I stopped by the vending machine for a grape juice and returned to my office. My supervisor, Shelia Rogers, was waiting for me. She's a really nice lady with with waist-length hair and rimless glasses, and since I've known her, I've believed she's incapable of raising her voice. According to some of the staff, she was a hippie when she was growing up, and according to her, both of her grandmothers were flappers.

"Sorry about that," I told Shelia as I sat down at the table.

"That's okay, Charlotte," she reassured me. "When you've got to go, you've got to go."

"I'll say."

"Okay, I believe you have something for me."

"Yes," I remembered, handing Shelia a file. She read it, signed it, and slipped it into the filing cabinet.

"So, how's your day been going?"

"Pretty good," I answered. "Jake's supposed to meet me when he gets off work, and then we'll decide between Cici's and hoagies for dinner. If we go to Cici's, I'm hoping we'll make it all the way around the salad bar without one of us dropping our plates."

"Yeah, I hear you," Shelia agreed. "The last time I went there with my daughter and her family, my son-in-law dropped his plate before we'd even left the salad bar."

"Oh, man, I'll bet they had fun cleaning up that mess, huh?"

"Did they! And while they were, my four-year-old grandson said—and these were his exact words, too: 'Daddy, that food's not for cleaning the floor, that's Mr. Clean's job!'"

Well, naturally, both of us laughed ourselves sick. After we'd calmed down, Shelia looked at the clock on the wall behind me and said, "Well, I think it's time to call it a day. You can either stick around and catch up on paperwork, or you can leave, too."

"I think I'll follow you out," I decided. "I don't have any paperwork to finish, anyway."

"Okay," Shelia agreed, and we grabbed our jackets. Hers was a black suede with fringe around the front, and mine was a pink satin that had "PINK LADIES" monogrammed on the back, as well as my name scrawled over the right breast. My parents had gotten it for me off eBay for my birthday last year.

"See you tomorrow, Jerry," Shelia called to the receptionist as we walked out the door. Jerry, who looks like a young Christopher Plummer, smiled and waved as we left.

All in all, a fairly productive day.

Since the office building is right across from the school, I'm usually able to see the car parked in its usual spot in the parking lot, or Jake standing beside the maple tree, depending on who has the car that day. But this time, neither Jake nor the car were there yet. Thankfully, I only had to wait a few minutes because Jake soon pulled up beside the curb. I could see a few rivulets of water running down the sides, which meant he'd just been at the car wash.

"Hi, sweetie," I smiled, getting in and giving him a kiss. "How was your day?"

"Well, the wrestling team almost put me in the hospital on their way to the showers, a couple of girls got in a fight over really stupid stuff, and some wiseass gave the car an A-1 paint job, but other than that, pretty good," Jake answered. "How about you?"

"Oh, I had a pretty good day, too," I said, finishing my juice and throwing the can in the trash sack. "Some kid almost knocked me over when I got out of the ladies' room and pissed his mom off big-time. But I guess I can't really complain."

"That's good to know," Jake said. "Well, what's it to be, Cici's or hoagies?"

"Well, I was kind of in the mood for hoagies, but today's the last day for Cici's spinach and chicken pizza, and I know you haven't had a chance to try it yet."

Jake grinned when I said that. "Now, I know why I fell in love with you," he said as we stopped at a red light. "By the way, do you mind if we take it to go?"

"Not at all. Is this so you won't drop your plate again?"

"Well, that and it's _Hoarders _and _Bar Rescue _night."

"Okay, we can get it to go this time," I agreed. "But next time, we're eating inside."

"I don't _want _to face that salad bar!" Jake mock-whined, which made me dissolve into a fit of laughter. On the upside, I'd already finished my drink, so I didn't have to worry about choking or spilling it. And when you think about it, this car already had a bath!


	4. Chapter 3:  James

A/N: Dr. Greene (yes, Mark's daughter, Rachel, from _ER) _and Cook Co. General Hospital are the property of NBC, John Wells, and the late Michael Crichton.

**CHAPTER 3: James**

_"S__ave—me dar-lin',...I-am-down, but I-am far from o-o-over! …And—there's the thing, and Tra-vol-ta jumps over-a-guy, and-the-di-rec-tor throws him out!"_

That's the song I was singing along with on my mp3 player as I got off the bus. And no, those weren't the real words to the song, but that wasn't important right now. Today was my first day of internship at Cook Co. General Hospital. I'd really had my heart set on staying at Northwestern, which is where I'd done my med school rotation. But instead, thanks to some asshole from the dean's office, I was matched here. Oh, well. I had to start somewhere.

I arrived at the emergency department of the hospital, along with half a dozen or so of my fellow interns. Like them, I knew it was called Triage, because that's where patients' vitals are checked, then the triage nurse decides who needs to be seen quickly, and who doesn't. We went past triage and to the main part of the hospital, where we were greeted by the sight of a big bear of a man charging out of one of the exam rooms, while some poor med student, as well as the patient's wife, were trying to catch him. "Get that goddamn needle away from me!" he screamed, blood pouring from a wound on his forehead. I, for one, was really surprised to see that a man his size was so deathly afraid of something as routine as a shot.

"I told you to get some restraints!" a doctor shouted.

"I did! He just broke right through them!" the student called back.

"It's all right, Clark, they're just trying to help!" the patient's wife tried to reassure him, but he wasn't stopping for anybody. He even managed to knock a scrawny little orderly into an old man into a wheelchair, spilling food all over the floor.

_So, this is how I'm starting my internship, huh? _I thought in dread.

"Welcome to the jungle," a passing janitor told us on his way to the exam room, or what was left of it, perhaps.

Despite the chaos we'd just witnessed, our Chief Resident soon appeared to meet us. She was a pretty young woman with long brown hair in ringlets, and she had on turquoise scrubs, black-rimmed glasses, and a lab coat.

"Welcome, interns," she addressed us, in her subtle yet very noticeable Midwestern accent. "I'm Dr. Greene, and as you already know, this is your first day in the ER. And I'd like to be the first to inform you that this is going to be one of the most, if not _the _most rewarding and challenging experiences of your lives. You're going to be dealing with real life-and-death situations. Every second will count, and every decision will need to be made with the utmost care. If you have any questions about anything, DO NOT hesitate to ask for help from either myself, one of the Residents, or whoever else is on call, because that's what we're here for. Remember, the only dumb question is the one you don't ask. Finally, your performance here will determine whether or not this is the right field for you. With that being said, good luck, do your best, and I hope to see some of you working down here someday. Dismissed."

And with that, we all left to run the gauntlet of our first day in the ER.

Our first stop was to get our pictures taken for our ID badges. After that, we were shown to the Admit area, where Dr. Greene gave each of us a tape player. She explained that since she didn't have time to show us around personally, we'd use the tape player with her recorded voice on it. _Boy, the last thing I need is to get lost in this place, _I thought as I followed my three friends—Bonnie White, Michael Stevens, and Nathaniel Williams—around the department.

The tour was pretty simple, and best of all, none of us got lost. We made our way back to the main desk, where Dr. Greene was waiting for us. When I got there, the first thing I noticed was the clear dry-erase board one of the Residents had pulled down from the ceiling. This was obviously where they wrote their patients' names, their diagnoses, the room number, and the treating physician, but it still reminded me of the _Jeopardy! _board. I don't know about the other interns, but I was almost tempted to say, "Okay, Alex, I'll take Blunt Chest Trauma for $300."

Anyway, like I said, Dr. Greene was waiting for us. "Here you go," I said, handing her the tape player.

"Thank you, Doctor, uh..." she said, surveying the badges in front of her.

"Hobart," I answered.

"Here you are," she remembered, picking up the badge and handing it to me, as well as a lab coat from behind the desk. I put it on, and pinned the badge to the left breast pocket. "You'll find your stethoscopes in the right pocket," she told us as she finished passing out the badges and coats. "And remember to wear them at all times, because we lose twenty or thirty a year. Does anyone here know who invented the stethoscope?" One of the guys raised his hand. "Yes, what's your name?"

"Dr. Summers," he answered. "And the stethoscope was invented in 1816 by René Laenec." His tone of voice was a real smug, know-it-all, I'm-getting-in-good-with-the-teacher voice. I turned my head to the right and saw a guy who looked about a head shorter than me, and had light brown hair with frosted tips, and had _way _too much hair gel, an ugly pencil-thin moustache, and the most arrogant, conceited smirk since Sara Hill—or Sara the Snot, as we always called her in Stoneybrook. None of us kids could stand her.

"Very good," Dr. Greene said. I think all of us were wishing we knew the answer. I know I sure did. "Don't worry, it'll take me all week to get names and faces sorted out. Anyway, take a break, and come find me after lunch. I'll have your Resident assignments then."

We then went to the cafeteria. "This is going to be interesting," I told Bonnie and Michael as we sat down with our lunch trays.

Bonnie nodded. We ate our lunch in silence, then returned to the ER. "Okay, as promised, I have your Resident assignments," Dr. Greene said.

The Resident I was assigned to was Dr. Bethany Thornton, a young woman with strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a French braid, and was wearing a white blouse and dark blue slacks with a light blue sweater. I felt kind of out of place with her, considering the fact that I was wearing dark blue jeans, black high-tops, and a black polo shirt that had the _Love Never Dies _logo on the front. I'd seen the show on a family trip to London, which had been my high school graduation present."I'm Dr. Hobart," I said, shaking her hand.

"Hi, there," she answered. Like my friend and former baby-sitter Logan Bruno, she had a really thick Southern accent. I also noticed a little blue-and-gold pin shaped like the state of Texas on her coat's left lapel. And you know what? This was the first time I'd ever seen a grown woman wear that much blue.

"A word of advice on attire," she continued. "Try to dress a little nicer, because you may end up changing into scrubs after one of the patients pukes, pisses, or bleeds on you. I tell you what, if I had a dollar for every time that's happened to me, I could take my whole family to Dollywood."

"Thanks, I'll remember that," I said.

"Come on," she said. Our first stop was Exam One, where we saw a woman in her mid-30s who had apparently separated her shoulder when she fell off her motorcycle. We assessed her injury, then sent her down to Radiology. I was just glad that she'd been wearing her helmet, otherwise, we'd have had a real trauma on our hands.

After we finished that one, Dr. Thornton asked, "Have you ever started an IV?"

I nodded. "I think so," I answered.

That's when we walked into the next room, where we were met by a severely dehydrated sixteen-year-old boy. "Do you want to do this?" Dr. Thornton asked.

"Sure," I said. All of my experience from my last two years of med school, not only doing it on patients, but also practicing on a plastic arm, really paid off, because when I'd finished, Dr. Thornton nodded her approval.

"Good job," she said.

"Thanks," I answered. I won't lie to you, I was pretty proud of myself.

As soon as we came out of Exam Two, we heard sounds that could only be a woman in labor, because I remember Mum making those sounds when she was in labor with my brother, John. "This way," Dr. Greene ordered, and we returned to the waiting area.

"What have we got?" Dr. Thornton asked.

"Donna Bolden, thirty-one, full-term labor," the EMT reported. "Contractions are ninety seconds apart, BP's 101/63, pulse 92, fetal heart rate's 138."

"My wife went into labor about twenty minutes ago," Mr. Bolden said. "We hurried over here as fast as we could."

"Okay," Dr. Greene said. "Let's get her to Curtain Area Three." We rushed Mrs. Bolden to the room, then the EMTs helped her to the bed, and left. The nurses helped her change clothes, and covered her with a blanket. "Membranes ruptured."

"Oh, God," Mrs. Bolden moaned.

"Okay, just stay calm, Mrs. Bolden," Dr. Greene said, putting a yellow gown on over her clothes. "I'm going to check you." A few seconds later, she said, "You're exactly ten centimeters dilated, fully effaced, and at a zero station. So on the next contraction, you're going to push, okay?" Grimacing in pain, Mrs. Bolden nodded.

"Get in there," Dr. Thornton brusquely told me, directing me into the spot beside Dr. Greene and looking over my shoulder. Then, to Mrs. Bolden, she said soothingly, "It's all right. We're going to get you through this, okay, sug'?"

"Here comes the head," I announced as I delivered the baby's head. Dr. Greene suctioned out the baby's nose and mouth. Then I said, "Just one more push, okay? We're almost to the end zone."

I don't know why, but as soon as I said that, my mind flashed back to the time Nick and Margo Pike taught me and my brother Mathew to play American football. At first, I thought we were going to play soccer, because that's what it's called Down Under. As it turned out, they meant the kind of football that's seen on TV. You know, where juiced-up muscleheads are constantly smashing into each other. And as an added bonus, that wacko Nick jumped on my leg and broke it, which really fucking hurt. Thankfully, the two of us remained friends, but that's one episode I still haven't quite forgiven him for to this day.

Okay, back to the delivery. With one loud, long scream, Mrs. Bolden gave one final push. "It's a girl!" Dr. Greene announced as she dried the baby off and we heard the first cry. Dr. Thornton cut the umbilical cord. I'd just put the baby in the warmer when I heard, "Oh, shit."

"What?" Dr. Thornton asked.

"Look," Dr. Greene said. "Her uterus has started to come out, too. We better hurry." She ran to the phone to page OB and Surgery.

That's when I felt it. My stomach. Why the hell did I have those buckwheat pancakes for brecky? "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick," I said.

"Oh, my God, I think I'm having another one!" Mrs. Bolden screamed hysterically.

"No, honey, that's just the placenta," her husband said.

"Oh, I _know _I'm going to be sick!" I groaned.

"Okay, Dr. Hobart, step outside," Dr. Thornton said.

Nodding feebly, I took off my yellow gown, threw it aside, and ran out of the room. All the while, I was sure everybody else would've given me hell for how I was feeling. And how I managed to make it down the hall without my legs turning into Jell-O, search me, mate.

I was sitting outside on a bench, trying to get my head back, and gulping down several cups of cold water, when I heard Dr. Greene's voice ask, "Are you all right?"

"I thought I was going to be sick," I said. "Jesus, I thought I was well past that part by now."

"You don't need to be ashamed," she assured me. "I've been there myself. Hell, I still get sick every once in a while." I started to look up at her, then as she knelt in front of me, she said, "It's best if you keep your head down."

"How's Mrs. Bolden?" I managed to ask as I lowered my head.

"Well, we paged Dr. Klein from OB, and she's examining her now. For the most part, she's stable, but they think she might need a hysterectomy. On a more upnote, their baby, which they have named Teresa, is fine." Dr. Greene was silent for a minute, then she asked, "Dr. Hobart, why did you become a doctor?"

_Like we couldn't have seen that one coming, _I thought. I also wondered if asking that question was par for the course in this hospital, or the medical field in general.

"Well, my family and I moved from Australia to America when I was eight," I began. "Until then, I only knew about rugby, and the only football I knew was soccer. One summer, my brother Mathew and I were playing with some friends of ours, and they decided to teach us American football. I broke my leg, and had to spend the summer in a cast."

"That must have sucked, huh?" Dr. Greene asked.

"Yeah, at first, but my favorite baby-sitters decided to cheer me up by having a Christmas in Summer party. Granted, it made me homesick for Australia, because that's when they have Christmas there, but it was just the right thing to keep my mind off the pain."

"That was nice of them. Is that why you became a doctor?"

I nodded. "I still can't believe I didn't get killed. My sister-in-law once told me that if you can get killed playing it, then it isn't a sport."

Dr. Greene stood up and said, "Let me tell you about myself. My parents divorced when I was seven. Dad moved to Chicago from Milwaukee, so he wouldn't have to commute every day, and also, because he'd found himself a place here. I'd see him every other weekend, and call him on Saturdays the rest of the time. Mom remarried almost immediately, and we moved to St. Louis when I was nine. Dad remarried when I was thirteen, and my half-sister, who's now a senior in high school, was born a month later. He was also a doctor—at this hospital, mind you—and he died of brain cancer when I was fourteen. I still have this letter he'd written me before he died, which I opened on my eighteenth birthday. He told me there are two kinds of doctors: the kind who get rid of their feelings and the kind who get rid of them." She paused for a moment, then continued, "If you're going to hold onto your feelings, you're going to get sick from time to time. That's just how it is. You know, people come in here, and they're either sick or bleeding, sometimes they're dying, and it's our job to help them. And helping them is more important than how we feel. Come back inside when you feel better."

"Okay," I whispered.

Before Dr. Greene headed back inside, she said, "By the way, I went to med school with Dr. Thornton, and she got sick a lot more than I did, so don't let her give you any crap about it."

I nodded. I could tell she knew what she was talking about.

_Okay, I'm ready, _I thought. Finishing the last sip of water, I threw the cup away, coughed, cleared my throat, and hung my stethoscope across the back of my neck. _Please, God, don't let me get sick again._


	5. Chapter 4:  Charlotte

**CHAPTER 4: Charlotte**

That following Monday, I'd just signed in, and was on my way to the water fountain, when one of my co-workers, Marcus Ward, caught up with me. He'd been in some of my classes in college, and he's also a little taller than me, with reddish-brown hair, greenish-blue eyes, and glasses. The one thing that's hard to miss about him are the polo shirts he always wears, whether they're striped or solid-colored, they're always polo shirts, even in cooler weather. At least he has the presence of mind to wear a long-sleeved shirt with them in the winter. "Hi, Charlotte," he said.

"Hi," I answered as I got out my compact mirror and my favorite tube of baby-pink lipstick. I'll bet you think I'm turning into Stacey McGill, huh?

"Hey, did you see the Giants game on TV last night?"

"No," I answered. "I'm not much of a sports fan, and besides, Jake likes the Patriots."

"Jake?"

"My boyfriend," I explained. "He's the wrestling coach at the high school."

"Oh, him,"Marcus remembered, snapping his fingers. "I've seen him around. You know, I think it's really nice that he lets you drive sometimes."

"And lucky for us, we work in the same part of town."

Marcus nodded. "Uh—listen, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure," I said.

"Let's go into the employees' lounge," he suggested.

"What is it?" I asked as we went in.

"Well," he began, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I'm four months behind on my rent, and my landlord and I don't exactly get along. I'm in danger of being evicted, and I don't want that to happen."

"Oh, no," I said sympathetically. "That's horrible."

"I'll say," he agreed, sighing heavily. "Anyway, I really hate to impose, and I think I already know what the answer's going to be, but, uh—I was wondering if I could—can I stay with you guys for a while?"

WHOA. This was definitely something I wasn't expecting. Now, don't get me wrong, he seemed like a pretty nice guy and everything. I mean, he was always on time, and when we were still in college, he always went out of his way to help one of his fellow students with their work, and he also takes his job very seriously. But I'd only known him less than a year, and he came across as the kind of guy who didn't like talking about his family, or what he was like growing up, stuff like that. And here he was, asking if he could move in with Jake and me. And if I knew Jake, there's no doubt in my mind he'd have a major conniption.

"I'll talk to him tonight, and let you know tomorrow," I said, trying to hide my uneasiness.

"Thanks," Marcus said as we hung up our jackets and prepared to get started for the day. "I really appreciate it, Char. And yes, I've been looking for a cheaper apartment. I promise not to get in the way."

"Okay," I agreed, trying to hide my concern. "That's all we ask."

"Deal. By the way, I'm going to Wendy's for lunch, and I was wondering if you'd like to join me? My treat."

"Sure," I said. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help thinking, _Jake isn't going to like this_.

Just as I'd predicted, Jake didn't like it one bit. I hadn't seen Jake that upset since Ryan DeWitt accidentally ran over his foot with his skateboard; and no, Jake wasn't wearing any shoes. Thankfully, he only got a bruise on his foot that healed in less than a week, but he was still pissed.

"Charlotte, what the hell were you thinking?" he exclaimed later that afternoon when I'd told him the whole story. "You hardly know this guy, or even what kind of person he is! You know, one of my co-workers took in her cousin after his house burned down, and woke up the next morning to find that this prick had left with all her food, money, clothes, you name it! Is that what you want to happen to us?"

"Jake, it's all right," I said, trying my hardest to calm him down. "He assured me that it'd only be temporary. And besides, I see him every day at work, so at least we won't have to worry about him lying around the house all day, watching TV, playing video games, or whatever his hobby is, and mooching off us. And besides, he told me he was looking for a cheaper apartment right now."

I honestly didn't think I'd made any progress in calming Jake down, but to my surprise, his face softened. "Well, okay," he said, not as angrily as he'd started out, but he was still upset. "But just remember this is only temporary. And if he doesn't pull his weight around here, if he brings someone else to live with us, or if I find something of his that shouldn't be in our house, he's gone. Okay?"

"Okay," I agreed. We decided to have Marcus over the next evening.

Hopefully, this would give Jake a little more reassurance.

The next day, I introduced Marcus. He followed us back to our apartment in his gold Camaro, which he says he got from his grandparents when he started his internship.

We pulled into the driveway, and he pulled in behind us. "Nice house, you guys," he commented as we went up the steps.

"Thanks," I said. "It's actually part of a duplex, and the other side is empty, so if you wanted to move there, you could."

"Now, Charlotte, don't be offering any alternatives," Marcus said.

_Oh, boy, _I thought. _Is this what he's really like?_

"Besides, it's just a thought," Jake said. "You can think about it while you live with us."

"Okay," Marcus said. "Thanks for your help."

I knew he was just trying to be polite to us, and appreciated our help, but somehow, I had that nagging feeling that he was pissed with me for reminding him that the other side of the duplex was available.

"Right here's the living room," I told him as I opened the front door. "Back there's the kitchen." I pointed toward the kitchen, then led him up a short flight of stairs. "In here's the bathroom, so if you need to go, I'll wait for you."

"Okay," Marcus agreed, and slipped into the bathroom. As he passed by me, I couldn't help noticing that he pushed me a little. It wasn't hard enough to knock me into the wall and hurt me. Just a very gentle, yet urgent push. I guess he really needed to go, but he could've been a little nicer about it.

While he was in there, the phone rang. "Hello?" I answered.

"Hi, is Marcus there?" a teenage girl's voice asked. "This is his sister Jeannette."

"Yes, but he's not available right now," I answered. However, this is what I wanted to say: "No, I'm sorry, dear; he's in the bathroom spanking his monkey." I was trying to be polite, but at the same time, I was getting impatient, because I wanted to continue the tour, not to mention still a little offended by his pushing me. I also wondered how she'd gotten our phone number, especially since it's unlisted.

"Oh, okay. Well, he gave me this number and said I should call him here if I needed him."

"I'll tell him you called."

"Thanks. Oh, in case he doesn't have it, my cell number is 601-2112."

"Okay, I'll make sure he gets it," I said as I wrote it down.

"Thanks. 'Bye."

After we hung up, Marcus came out of the bathroom. "Your sister just called," I told him.

"Oh, okay," he said. "I'll call her back later. Oh, sorry for pushing you out of the way like that. I guess I should've ordered a smaller-sized iced tea."

We continued our tour. I led him down the hall, and showed him the office and our room. "We can always move the computer into our room," I said.

"Okay," he said.

We had steak hoagies for dinner, then settled back to watch the copy of _Saw _that Marcus had brought with him. He even showed us his impression of Tobin Bell's character by saying, "Hello, Marcus. I'd like to play a game." All three of us were just in hysterics. It was so funny.

After the movie was over, Marcus took the DVD out of the player. "So, what did you think?" he asked as he put it in its case and laid it on the coffee table.

I looked over at Jake, and I could tell he was trying to be nice without hurting Marcus' feelings. "Well, Marc—mind if I call you that?"

"Not at all."

"I like some horror movies, but that was a little over the top for me. I don't mean it was a bad movie, like, say, _Gigli _or _Anaconda. _I liked the writing and the acting, but—well, it was much gorier than any movie I've ever seen. It's just a lot for me to take in, you know?"

"I think I do, too," Marcus nodded. "I'm sure a lot of people felt the same way you did the first time they saw it. I still remember how scared I was the first time I saw _Gremlins _at the drive-in when I was four."

_"Gremlins_?"I asked. "I love that movie! I saw that at Becca's house when I was in fifth grade, and don't even get me started on the Christmas tree scene, either!"

I guess I'd interrupted him, or I was rambling at the mouth, which I've been known to do when talking about something I really like. Either way, Marcus was looking at me with kind of a testy look on his face. "I believe I was talking to Jake," he said, in the most matter-of-fact voice I'd ever heard anyone use. I knew he wasn't trying to be rude, but it still sounded pretty disrespectful.

I won't lie to you, I was taken aback. I didn't mean to butt in on their conversation, it just happened, and does to a lot of people. But either way, Marcus' tone of voice made me uncomfortable. "Sorry," I said. What was I supposed to say?

"It's okay, Charlotte. I didn't mean it. I just don't like being interrupted."

"I can understand that," Jake said. "Nobody does, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to her that way anymore."

"Sure, no problem," Marcus agreed. "Well, I'd better get going. I'll see you tomorrow, Charlotte."

"Before you go, we need to talk," Jake said. "If you're going to be living with us, we need to set some ground rules."

"Sure, no problem."

"Okay. First of all, Charlotte is _my _girlfriend. I don't mind if you talk to each other, but under no circumstances are you to touch her or show affection of any kind, unless she wants to. Second, since we all have steady income, we expect you to pay your share of the rent, bills, groceries, and what have you. Third, we expect you to help us with the cooking, cleaning, or any type of housework when we ask you to. Fourth, our landlady has very bad asthma, so no pets. By the way, do you have a computer or Internet access?"

"Yes, a laptop."

"Okay, you can go on Facebook or YouTube, or one of those kind of sites, except online trading sites or porn, especially porn."

"Which I don't."

"Good deal. And I assume you know not to give out personal information, right?"

"Right."

Jake nodded. "Finally, you are absolutely not allowed to have friends over, even for overnight, without checking with one of us first. You can do overnights at their houses, as long as you let us know, but not here. Also, I don't mean to pry, but I have to ask you this: does your supervisor or any of your co-workers know about this?"

"No."

Jake thought for a minute, then continued, "Well, as a favor to you, we'll keep this just between the three of us as long as you pull your weight around here, and not give us any trouble. If you go against us on any of these rules, or if you put the moves on Charlotte here or anywhere else and I hear about it, you're gone. All right?"

Marcus nodded.

"Any questions?"

Marcus shook his head. I don't know why, but I couldn't help noticing that he felt a little uneasy with being talked to in that manner. It made me wonder if perhaps this was something he wasn't used to hearing.

"Okay," Jake said at last. "I'm glad we had this little chat, and we hope you enjoy living with us."

"Thanks," Marcus said softly. He stood up, picked up his DVD, and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Well, I guess I really should be going. Thanks again."

"See you," I said as he put his jacket on and headed out the door.

As I watched him pull out of the driveway, I thought, _I hope he's not a complete asshole for a roommate. What are we getting ourselves into?_

Well, folks, it wouldn't be too long before we got our answer.


	6. Chapter 5:  Jake

**CHAPTER 5: Jake**

The next day, I got permission from the principal to take the afternoon off, and arranged a meeting with our landlady, Leslie Donahue. When I arrived at her two-story brick house at the end of the cul-de-sac where she lives, I stopped the car, turned off the ignition, and took a deep breath. "All right, Kuhn, just get ahold of yourself," I said to myself. "Leslie's a very nice lady, and she'll listen to you. Plus, you have the money you owe her for Elliot fixing your shower, so it'll be okay." With that, I got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell.

A minute or so later, the door was opened by a little boy who looked old enough to be in preschool. He was a bit on the pudgy side, just like I'd been when I was a kid, and had thick jet-black hair, light skin, blue eyes, and was wearing a yellow long-sleeved Superman T-shirt and jeans.

"Hi!" he grinned. For a total stranger, he sure looked happy to see me.

"Hi, there," I said, kneeling down to his level so he wouldn't feel intimidated by my height. That's one of several things that Kristy taught the BSC members to do when talking to little kids. "Um, is Leslie home? She's my landlady, and I need to talk to her about something really important."

"Sure," he answered, then turned around and shouted at the top of his lungs, "LESLIE, SOMEBODY'S AT THE DOOR!" He was so loud that I had to cover my ears. Apparently, he didn't understand the concept of "indoor voice" just yet.

A minute later, Leslie came to the door. She has golden-blond hair with a few gray streaks in it, hazel eyes, and was wearing a white U-Conn sweatshirt, khakis and white high-tops with navy blue trim. "Hi, Jake," she said. "I see you've met my stepson Toby."

"Your stepson?" I asked.

She nodded. "Elliot and his girlfriend broke up soon after Toby was born, and we married when Toby was a year and a half old. Toby's mother died of cancer last year, so he lives with us now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I said sympathetically. Then I remembered, and reached into my pocket. "Oh, here's the money I owe you for the shower."

"Thanks," she said, taking it.

"Uh, listen, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, come in," she said. "I was just about to have some tea. Care for some?"

"Sure," I said as I came inside.

"Hey, want to see my Kleen-on bird of clay?" Toby asked excitedly, jumping up and down like a kangaroo on a No-Doze binge. And the grip he had on my arm was so strong. I'm surprised he didn't pull me over, now that I think about it. (By the way, I knew he meant "Klingon bird of prey", and that he was also a major _Star Trek _fan.)

"Uh, maybe some other time," I told him. He nodded, and was out of the room in a second. I could tell he was just like Karen from when we were kids. "Damn, that kid has energy!" I commented.

"I'll say!" Leslie agreed as we went into the kitchen. The kettle was already whistling when we got there. "And he's never met a stranger, either. He thinks everybody is his new best friend."

"At least he's not painfully shy, or so traumatized by his mother's death, that he's afraid of the world in general," I commented.

"That's true. So, what kind of tea would you like? I have lemon, orange, raspberry, mint, and green tea."

"Lemon's fine, with just a touch of honey."

After we sat down with our tea, Leslie asked, "So, what can I do for you?"

I blew on my tea, then started to explain the situation. Not surprisingly, she didn't like it much, either, but on the other hand, I think she was glad that we were willing to take in someone who really needed our help.

"I'm particularly concerned about his being there causing the utilities to go through the roof," she said. "I may have to increase your rent by fifteen dollars."

"All right," I said. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"And make sure he doesn't bring someone else in, or you're all out."

"Oh, there's no danger of that happening," I promised. "He already gave his word that he wouldn't. By the way, you do know that the other side of the duplex is empty, right?"

"Yes, I know what you're asking me, Jake. Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets a good look at it for himself. Elliot says it just needs a few small repairs, but should be ready within the next month or so."

"I can help with that," I offered. "My friend Logan taught me a few things when he and his dad were building an apartment over their garage."

"That's very nice of you. I'll keep that in mind. Getting back to your friend, though. Is there a number I can reach him at?"

"Yeah, he gave me his cell number," I answered, digging it out of my pocket and handing it to her.

"I'll call him as soon as I can," Leslie assured me. "You did the right thing by coming to me."

"Thanks."

"Well, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to give Toby his bath now," Leslie said as we got up from the table. "Thanks again for stopping by."

"No problem," I said, let myself out. Driving home, it occurred to me that I probably should've told Marc that I'd gone to our landlady and brought her up to speed on things. I knew he'd be upset with me for doing all this without letting him know, but hopefully, he'd appreciate the fact that I'd taken time out of my own schedule to take such an initiative.

I arrived home as Marc was dropping Charlotte off. "Hi, honey," I said, giving her a kiss. "How was your day?"

"The usual," Charlotte answered. "Oh, Marcus wanted me to tell you that he invited us to have dinner at his place tonight. Is that all right?"

"Sure, I suppose," I said.

We got in our car and followed Marc to his apartment, which was only a few blocks away. The first thing I noticed was that it was several tan brick buildings, three stories high. There was a little playground at one end of the parking lot, a little white building off to the side, which I assumed was the complex's main office, and a fenced-in kidney-shaped pool right in the middle. "This is nice," I told Marc as we got out of our vehicles.

"Thanks, Jake," he said. "I'm planning burgers for tonight. Luckily, unlike my sister, I make sure they're cooked all the way through, whereas my sister can't cook to save her life."

We walked up the steps to the third floor of the first building, and Marc dug into his pocket for his key. "Since I got the grand tour of your place, why don't I give you the grand tour of mine?" he suggested, unlocking the door on the left side.

"Okay," Charlotte said.

When we walked in, the first thing we saw was that the kitchen and living room were one large room, separated by a counter. A little way down the hall was the bathroom. The only difference between ours and his was that his color scheme was green, and ours is blue. And best of all, the surfaces were so immaculate that you could almost eat off them.

Across the hall from the bathroom was the bedroom. He had the Chucky and Tiffany (yes, from _Bride of Chucky) _dolls in one corner, his bed in another corner,with a Giants blanket on it, a robot-shaped fan on the nightstand, and an oak armoire in the corner. Even though I'm a Patriots fan, even I had to admit it looked pretty cool.

In the back of the apartment was a combination of an office and a guest room. There was a roll-away cot folded up in one corner and a computer desk against the other. He had a gold Dell laptop laying on the desk, and a little brass desk lamp beside it.

"This is really nice," Charlotte said.

"Thanks," Marc answered. "I really hate to be leaving such a nice place, though."

"How soon are you wanting to be out?" Charlotte asked.

"As soon as possible."

"For now, we can put your furniture in storage, unless you have any objections."

"None at all. It sure beats having to call my aunt, because she's got way too much junk in her garage as it is."

"Okay," I agreed. "How does Saturday sound? I can rent a U-Haul."

Marc thought for a minute. "Sounds like a plan. I'm not busy that day, anyway."

When our burgers were ready, Marc put in his copy of the third season of _King of the Hill, _specifically the Christmas episode. When it got to the part where Dale Gribble says, "Not on my watch", while holding a shotgun, Marc imitated it and a gunshot, then said, "Uh-oh." Charlotte and I howled with laughter. It was the funniest thing we'd ever heard.

So far, he seemed like a pretty decent guy, but at the same time, I wasn't sure what to expect.

As planned, we moved Marc in the following Saturday. With the exception of his bedroom furniture, we put everything else in storage. Granted, it was such a pain in the ass to move all that stuff, but within a few hours, we got it all done.

All the while, though, despite my chat with him, I couldn't shake that gut-feeling that this arrangement, albeit temporary, was a bad idea. But he really had nowhere else to go, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Well, it didn't take long for me to realize just how bad an idea this really was.

We had been living together happily for a couple of weeks when we noticed some minor changes in Marc. For instance, he sometimes acted like he ran the show, when the house technically belonged to me and Charlotte. He also read our mail after we'd set it aside. And to top it all off, he'd pocket any money he found lying around, which I sort of expected would happen. Fortunately, he didn't eavesdrop on our phone calls, or read our newspaper and magazines, then hide them before we had a chance to read them. And as he promised, he always pulled his weight around the house, so we didn't have to worry about him sitting around on his ass all day. Another upside was that since we have a dishwasher, we didn't have to worry about him saying we used too much dish soap and then hiding it from us.

Even so, as you can already imagine, he and I were constantly butting heads over every little thing, such as how to clean, what to watch on TV, what to cook for dinner, you name it. On the upside, he didn't make us stop a movie we were watching to put in something _he _wanted to watch. When he was being really obnoxious, I'd hum _The Odd Couple _theme, and sometimes I'd even say, "Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy?", just to annoy the crap out of him.

To make a long story short, I'd heard of making adjustments, but this was ridiculous.

One night, Charlotte and I were coming home from a wrestling meet at the school. We'd just pulled in and gotten out of the car when Marc poked his head out the second-story window. "Hi, you guys!" he called. "How did it go?"

I hate it when people don't just come up to me when they have something to tell me. Ever since I was a kid, that's the one thing that's always pissed me off, even more than the fat jokes I had to put up with. "Does he really have to broadcast our conversations all over the neighborhood?" I whispered to Charlotte. "I'm telling you, Charlotte, he's just doing that to irritate me, and he knows it."

"I'll bet it went really well, huh?" Marc commented. "Oh, listen, don't get mad, Jake, but I acidentally knocked your razor into the toilet. Oh, don't worry, I cleaned it really well with soap, hot water, and bleach, so it should be okay to use the next time you shave."

"Oh, my God, that is _so _nasty," I groaned. I honestly didn't think this guy could be any more of a douchebag. Naturally, I was wrong.

"Oh, and your sister called. Laurel, I think. She's got a new boyfriend from NYU. He's got acne and everybody hates him, especially her. She caught him making an erotic film with himself and the plumber. And no, his name's not Milt."

That did it.

Yanking my arm free from Charlotte's grasp, I ran up to the front door, flung it open, and charged upstairs. I knew which room was Marc's, because unlike Charlotte and me, he never shuts his door, except when he's changing. Without thinking about how much damage I'd cause to the door or the wall, I kicked it open and marched into the room.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Marc asked, as if nothing had happened. That made me even madder. I went to the window, slammed it shut, and got right in his face.

"Just exactly what the _fuck _do you think you're doing, telling the neighborhood our personal business?" I demanded through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I don't know," he answered in a very blasé manner. He was really enjoying this. "Maybe it has something to do with a little talk you had with your landlady about the other side of the duplex."

"Well, it _is _empty."

"No shit, Sherlock," he retorted. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get rid of me. Now, just for the sake of argument, how do you suppose she got my cell number?"

I knew Marc knew I'd given it to her, but I wasn't about to tell, so I just glared at him.

"You had no right to go behind my back," Marc snapped.

"Well, _you _have no right to tell us how to live our lives or run our house like you're David-goddamn-Koresh," I shot back. We were nose-to-nose. Well, actually, it was more like nose-to-forehead, since he's a few inches shorter than me. At any rate, I'd had enough. "Marc, in case you haven't noticed, this is _our _house. Is your name on that lease? Did you spend six months living in a dumpy room at Motel 6 while you were looking for someplace you could afford?"

"Now, hold on a sec..."

"NO! NOW, WHEN YOU FIND SOMEPLACE THAT WON'T COST YOU AN ARM AND A LEG, YOU CAN RUN THE SHOW ANY WAY YOU DAMN WELL PLEASE! BUT UNTIL THEN, YOU FOLLOW _OUR _RULES!"

For a moment, Marc was silent. All he did was look at me with vacant eyes. Then just when I thought I'd made my point, out of his mouth came, "You're a real prick, you know that?"

I could feel my fist slowly clenching, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to knock him on his ungrateful ass. And believe me, he deserved it, too. But I knew if I hit him, he'd either run crying to Leslie and tell her I'd hit him for no reason, or call the cops and have me arrested for assault. "If you pull anything like this again, I can personally guarantee you that you'll be sleeping at the bus depot," I whispered, shoving a finger in his face, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I was so fucking pissed. I mean, I tried to be nice to this guy that Charlotte considered a friend. I agreed to let him stay with us until he found a place he could afford, and look at how he repays me. Just who the hell did he think he was, anyway?

"Jake?" I heard Charlotte call as I came downstairs, but I was too upset to listen to her. Still grumbling in Yiddish under my breath, I marched out the front door, got in my car, and roared out of the driveway. I didn't want to spend another minute under the same roof with that miserable piece of garbage.

And with my luck, things would only get worse from that point on.


	7. Chapter 6:  James

**CHAPTER 6: James**

When I came back inside, I found out that Mrs. Bolden was in surgery, but word was that she was going to be just fine. Baby Teresa was in the nursery, where Dr. Wilson, the pediatrician on call, was keeping an eye on her. "Dr. Hobart, right?" he guessed, looking up at me. He was around my height, and had short, black graying hair around the edges, a gray bushy moustache, and tan horn-rimmed glasses.

"Yes. How is she?"

"She weighs 6 pounds, 14 ½ ounces, and is perfectly healthy," he answered.

"That's a relief," I commented. "How's her mum?"

Dr. Wilson set down his clipboard and turned to face me while a nurse kept an eye on the baby. "Dr. Klein just called and said they're closing on Mrs. Bolden's surgery," he said. "She'll recover, but I'm sorry to say that she did, in fact, need a hysterectomy."

I sighed and looked away. "What a tough break," I said sympathetically.

"I know, but these things happen," he answered. "Listen, you'd better get back down to the ER. We've got this."

"Yes, sir," I said, an headed for the elevator.

Immediately after I returned to the ER, Dr. Thornton and I treated a thirteen-year-old girl in insulin shock, a two-year-old boy having a febrile seizure, and admitted an old woman in her mid-70s to dialysis. I met Bonnie and Michael in the lounge son after that, and we compared notes. We discovered that my day topped theirs, and I told them about my conversation with Dr. Greene.

"Hey, don't feel too bad, James," Michael said, taking a sip of his fig milkshake. "On my first day of my med school ER rotation, I was helping treat this forty-year-old hang glider who broke his ribs when he crashed into the rocks. I actually threw up on the Resident's brand-new wing-tips, and was out $150. That's when I learned just how much of a chore it is to clean Italian leather."

As soon as he said that, I stopped myself from taking a bite of my chicken-salad sandwich. "Well, there goes my appetite," I muttered. "You know, Mike, you and Kristy Thomas would definitely hit it off."

"Oh, your baby-sitter?" Michael suggested.

At that moment, Summers—you know, the guy who answered Dr. Greene's question about the stethoscope—happened to be passing by on his way to the coffee pot. "Did she catch you sticking Play-Doh in the socket?" he snickered.

"Maybe, and if I still had some, it'd be up your nose," I retorted. And with that, Summers let loose with the most sarcastic laugh he could muster. It was another reason for me to dislike him.

After our break, I saw Dr. Thornton talking to Mr. Bolden. He had twin boys who looked about five years old. They reminded me of my own niece and nephew, as well as Mallory's miscarriage last year, which resulted in her getting her tubes tied. I think that was a smart move on her part, but at the same time, I felt bad for her, not being able to have kids anymore.

"Dr. Hobart, could you take them up to the Surgery Waiting Area?" Dr. Thornton asked.

"Sure," I answered, then I turned to Mr. Bolden and his boys. "This way, please."

The four of us got on the elevator and went to the third floor. On the way, I explained the situation to Mr. Bolden about his wife's hysterectomy. All the while, Mr. Bolden was looking down at the floor in disappointment, but I could also tell he wasn't surprised, either.

"If you have any questions about your wife or the baby, you can ask either Dr. Klein or Dr. Wilson," I said gently as the elevator stopped and opened. "I'm sure you'd like to see your baby, too. The nursery is right around the corner."

"Thank you, Dr. Hobart," Mr. Bolden said, shaking my hand. Then he and the boys got off the elevator.

_Hang in there, you guys, _I thought as the elevator closed.

When I got off the elevator at the ER, the first thing I saw was Dr. Greene rushing out from behind the main desk, not to mention everybody in the department running around like a bunch of headless chickens. "What is it?" I asked.

"We just heard over the MICN that there's been an explosion at a power plant over on Wabash and VanBuren," she said. "They're sending us five majors and five minors. Two casualties have already been reported at the scene."

Pulling on my trauma gown and gloves, I followed Drs. Greene and Thornton, Bonnie, and Dr. Andrews—her Resident—out to the ambulance bay, and waited. _Now, this is what I call exciting, _I thought as I saw the first ambulance approaching.

"Is everybody here?" Dr. Greene called. "All right, this one's going to be messy!"

As the EMT opened the doors and jumped out, I saw that it was Margo Pike, whom I've known since I was eight and she was seven. "Hi, Margo," I said. "What do we got?"

"James," she said. "Daniel Myers, twenty-eight; second and third-degree burns to the left leg and right arm. BP's 99/55, pulse 96, temp's 99.8."

"We got him," Dr. Andrews said as he and Bonnie helped unload the patient from the ambulance. "Go help the next one."

"Kevin Montoya, thirty-two, concussion, cracked sternum, crushed larynx, and altered," the second EMT reported. "BP's 90/55, pulse 88, GCS 8. We started a round of atropine and criked him en route."

"We've got this one," Dr. Thornton said. "Dr. Hobart, you're with me. Let's move!" We followed the gurney inside to Curtain Area One.

When I was done with treating Mr. Montoya, I walked around to see where else I could help out. On the way down the hall, I saw Dr. Greene performing CPR on a patient in Trauma One. "Need some help?" I asked as I poked my head into the room.

"No, thanks, I got it from here," she said. "Go see if anyone else could use you."

"Right," I said, and continued on my way. The last thing I heard before leaving the room was Dr. Greene ordering the rib-spreader.

When I returned to the waiting room, I saw Bonnie trying to help an EMT load a woman into a wheelchair. "Carol Matthews, forty-seven, possible broken left ankle," the EMT told me. "Minor burns, smoke inhalation, and facial lacs."

"Okay," Dr. Andrews said. "Why don't you take her to Curtain Area One?"

I nodded, and put an oxygen mask over the patient's face. When we got to the room, I asked, "Shall I assist?"

"No, Dr. Thornton's on her way," Bonnie answered. "Go." I left the room, and returned to the waiting area.

When I passed by Trauma One again, I heard Dr. Greene shout, "Internal paddles charged to 60! Clear!"

"Asystole," one of the nurses reported as she glanced at the EKG.

"How long has he been down?" Dr. Greene asked.

"Forty-five minutes," the nurse answered. "Can't we give him another round of epi?"

Dr. Greene looked down at the patient in sorrow. "No, he's been down too long," she said grimly as she set the paddles down. Summers, meanwhile, was still squeezing the bag and hoping that somehow, just possibly, they'd be able to save this guy, but Dr. Greene knew that wasn't going to happen. She touched Summers' arm and shook her head at him, telling him to stop. Personally, if I were him, I would've stopped when she did.

"We cracked his chest and did all we could, but his brain and heart were deprived of too much oxygen," she continued. "Even if we kept going, it wouldn't have made any difference. That's all we can do. Call it."

"Time of death, 16:01," Summers reported angrily, peeling off his bloody gloves. I knew that meant we'd had our first hospital casualty, not including the two DOAs.

"Did he have any family?" I asked.

"A fiancée," Dr. Greene answered. "Her phone number's in his wallet. I'll call her, you go back out there and help with the other patients." I nodded, and left the room.

"Next?" I called as I returned to the waiting area.

"That would be me," a slightly familiar voice said. I looked around to see who the voice belonged to, and there he was.

"John?" I asked in surprise. There was no doubt that this was my baby brother, but he sure didn't look the same way he did when I last saw him at my college graduation. Not only was he a couple of inches taller than me, but he also had a full beard and was completely bald.

"Hey, bro!" he smiled, despite the pain he was in.

"Oh, my God, how have you been?" I exclaimed as we hugged. "What are you doing in this mess?"

"I just graduated from technical college with a degree in Electrical Engineering," he answered. Apparently, he'd been there when the explosion happened. "I guess no one told me about this sort of thing happening."

"No, I guess not," I agreed. "Well, you still look great."

"Thanks. So do you."

That's when Dr. Thornton passed by. She and several others were wheeling a stabilized patient toward the elevators. "Better speed it up, Dr. Hobart; the patients won't heal themselves, you know," she called to me, and was gone in a flash.

"Come on, let's take a look at you."

When John and I arrived at Exam One, he hopped up on the table, and I wheeled the stool over and sat facing him.

"Does this hurt?" I asked as I pressed my fingers against the bones in his hand to see if anything was broken.

"No," he answered, but when I took his and and turned it palm up, he screamed, "OW, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Sorry, little brother," I said soothingly. I was also kind of surprised, because John hardly ever swears. At least he didn't when we were growing up. "Just be glad we're not kids anymore, because Mum and Dad would be cramming Lifebuoy down your throat like there was no tomorrow."

"Yeah, really," John laughed. "And I've also been partial to Dial myself."

I shook my head, and looked at his hand. There were burn marks on his fingers and thumb, but the one on his thumb looked deeper than the ones on his fingers. "Okay," I said to the Resident who was with me. "First-degree burns to the left index, middle, and pinkie fingers, and a second-degree burn to the left thumb. And yes, this is my brother."

She nodded and left the room just as a nurse came in, filled a basin with water, and put it beside me. "Thanks," I said, glancing briefly at the nurse, who was putting down towels before leaving the room. From the profile side, I could see that he had dark brown shoulder-length hair, as well as a full beard. He looked just like the pictures of Jesus I'd seen in my grandparents' living room when I was a kid. _Nah, _I thought.

I put John's hand in the basin and let it soak while I got some bandages. "So, what were you doing at the plant?" I asked as I set the bandages on the tray.

"Well," he said as I put my stethoscope on, "I was arriving for my first day of work there. I'd just finished checking one of the reactors when I heard the explosion, and people outside screaming. One of the power lines had snapped and hit the back of the truck. God, everything was happening so fast. I don't even remember burning my hand."

I nodded as I put the stethoscope on his chest. Then after I finished examining him, I hung my stethoscope across the back of my neck, spread out a towel, took John's hand out of the basin, and patted it dry. "It's okay now, John," I said, putting my arm around him. "You'll be okay now."

John nodded, and took some deep breaths to calm down. I could tell that what he saw had scared him half to death.

"You know," he said at last, "I couldn't help noticing you staring at that bonzer shelia with the perm."

"Bonnie?" I asked. "Yeah, we've been running into each other all day."

"So, do you like her?"

"She's okay, I guess."

"You _guess?" _John exclaimed. "Let me tell you, any guy would be off his nut not to ask _her _out!"

"She's a great colleague, but I'm afraid if I ask her out, she'll tell me she's taken."

"You never know until you ask."

"Since when did you become an expert, Mr. Girls-Don't-Like-Me?"

"Oh, I've been getting around," he grinned slyly.

"Okay," I laughed as I wrapped a dressing around his hand. "How long are you supposed to be in Chicago?"

"About three weeks. I'm only in town whenever they need me. The rest of the time, I share a flat up in Hartford with Archie Rodowsky."

"Where are you staying while you're here?"

"At the hotel up the street. I mean, sure, it's right next to the El station, and the walls are paper-thin, but it's better than some dark alley. Other than that, I think I'm beginning to like it here. As soon as I get enough money, I'm looking for an apartment here."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Oh, and if staying at the hotel gets too expensive, you're more than welcome to stay with me while you look for a place."

"Thanks, bro."

"Oh, I got an e-mail from Mathew last night. He got that job with the Boston Pops Orchestra."

"He did? Oh, that's awesome! I guess all those years of practicing that bloody violin finally paid off, huh?"

I nodded. "Okay, we're all done here," I told him. "And I want you to come back in a couple of days for a wound-check."

"Sure," he said as he stood up. "But seriously, though, you think about what I said about that shelia."

"I will," I said as I walked out of the room to see if there were any other patients I could help.

After John left, I met Dr. Greene at the main desk. Except for the janitor from this morning mopping the hallway, the ER seemed so quiet and empty, compared to what it was like earlier. "So, uh—is that it?" I asked.

"I believe so," she answered as she erased the last patient's name off the board. "Why don't you go home? It's been a long day, and it looks like we're pretty much over the hump."

"Right. See you tomorrow."

As I was leaving, Bonnie caught up with me. "Are you leaving now?" she asked. I nodded. "Me, too."

"I was just heading home now. How about you?"

"Boy, that was quite a ride, wasn't it?"

"It sure was," I agreed. "Listen, can we talk? I've been meaning to tell you something all day, but with that mass cas, I never really got the chance."

"Sure," she said. "Let me get my jacket."

As we left the hospital, I thought, _Okay, John, I'm doing this for you._

All the way back to the apartment, I thought about what I was going to tell Bonnie. I hadn't been in love since I was eight years old. Her name was Carolyn Arnold, and she was really something special. She and I had gone out on a few dates in high school—which included our senior prom—but as smart, nice, and wonderful as she was, and still is, we soon discovered that we had practically nothing in common, and were better off as friends. This time, however, I was older, and more mature, and had more in common with Bonnie than I did with Carolyn.

When we arrived at the building, I said, "You know, working a shift like this can really make a person thirsty. How about you?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I've got iced tea, Tab, Foster's, and water," I said.

"Okay, water sounds good to me."

"Sure," I said as we got off the elevator. (By the way, we live in the same building. She lives on the fourth floor, and I live on the fifth.)

When we got to my apartment, I opened the fridge and got out a Tab for me and a bottle of Aquafina for Bonnie. "Here," I said, handing Bonnie her water.

"Thanks," she smiled. As the two of us sat on the couch, she said, "Now, you said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was because I was tired of beating around the bush, or because she was such a pretty girl. Whatever the reason, without another word, I reached for her hand. She looked at me in surprise.

"Bonnie," I said, clearing my throat, "I've noticed that we've been running into each other all day. Every time I see you, whether it be in the hall, or assisting with a trauma, I can't help noticing how beautiful you are."

"Thank you," she said, fidgeting and blushing. "I also can't help noticing how cute you are with your red hair and freckles, and I just love your accent."

"Thanks," I said. "I came to America from Australia when I was eight. My accent was pretty heavy when we first arrived, but not so much anymore."

"Wow," Bonnie said. We scooted closer, and I put an arm across her shoulders. I kind of wish I'd grabbed one of her bazooms, but I know exactly what she would've done if I had. "So, how was your day?"

"Oh, pretty good. In fact, my own youngest brother was one of the minor cases from that mass cas."

"Really?"

I nodded. "He just got an engineering job, and he was looking at a reactor when the explosion happened."

"Oh, my God," Bonnie gasped. "Was he hurt badly?"

"He just had first- and second-degree burns on his left hand," I answered. "But he'll be all right."

"Yeah," Bonnie agreed. "How long is he supposed to be in Chicago?"

"About three weeks, then he'll go back to Hartford until they call him to work again, unless he decides to stay in Chicago, and I invited him to stay with me until he found a place." Then out of nowhere, I kissed her on the cheek. She looked at me in surprise. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it, Dr. White."

"James, we're away from the hospital. You don't have to be formal with me."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," she smiled. Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek. I was also surprised, because until now, no girl I'd kissed had done that before. In fact, they usually made the first move. "You know, James, the longer we sit here, the fonder I'm growing of you."

If my heart had been beating any faster, I'm positive it would've exploded. "Really? What are we going to do about it?"

"Well, while we're trying to figure it out, why don't you kiss me again?"

"You are the most—you—I, uh...oh, forget it!" Then I cupped her face in my hands, and we were locked in a long and passionate kiss.

Call me crazy, but I almost expected Michael to come waltzing in, singing, _"She loves me, but..." _Then saying, "Well, the least you could do is chip in for the wine!"

After Bonnie and I separated, she said, "Well, all I can say is—wow! For an intern, you're some good kisser!"

"For a kisser, I'm some good intern," I grinned. I don't know how long it took Bonnie to stop laughing at that one.

After she calmed down, she looked at her watch and said, "Well, James, I should get going now. I'm having breakfast with my brother tomorrow."

"Really? I didn't know you had a brother," I said, taking the empty water bottle from her.

"Yeah, his name's William, and he's a cardiac surgeon at Lakeshore."

I was really impressed to hear this. "Man, life's just full of little surprises, huh?" I marveled.

Bonnie nodded in agreement. "Well, see you tomorrow," she said as she stood up. "And yes, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

I couldn't help smiling.

As Bonnie left, and I made my way to the kitchen to put the empty bottle in the recycling bin, I knew John would be happy when I told him what happened.


	8. Chapter 7:  Carolyn

**CHAPTER 7: Carolyn**

I pulled up to the window of the McDonald's drive-thru. "Good morning, welcome to McDonald's," the staticky intercom blared. "May I take your order?"

"Yeah, I'll have an Egg McMuffin, a hash brown, and a large black coffee."

"Anything else?"

"Nope, that'll do it," I said as I checked the drive-thru's computer screen.

"Does that complete your order?"

"Yes."

"Your total comes to $4.21, please pull up to the first window."

I drove my black Camaro up to the window, paid for my breakfast, and sat in a short line to wait for my food as "Good Morning, Starshine" played on the radio. I couldn't help laughing as I remembered the story Becca Ramsey had told about the trip that the Stoneybrook Kids had taken to Washington, DC, when we were eleven, and how she'd heard from Bebe Everett that Bebe's stepbrother Jason—who's a hero to a lot of us kids—had sung that when he woke up after his appendectomy.

Within minutes, I was on my way to SMS, where I teach sixth-grade science. After I pulled into the parking lot and went to the office, I made my way to my classroom. I was teaching the sixth-graders about the solar system that day.

Out of all my students, one in particular, Jeff Rossum, really stands out. He's only nine, but he's in sixth grade. He's also really smart, and has an astronomical IQ, like Janine Kishi, or so I've heard from her sister Claudia, who's one of my former baby-sitters. The only real downside of being in sixth grade at his age is his height. Out of all the boys in the sixth grade, he's one of the shortest, about 4'8". That, combined with his IQ, makes him a favorite target of bullies. I'm just glad the superintendent finally decided to add peer counseling to the curriculum, because without it, these kids would be the most insensitive bunch of hellions on the planet.

Anyway, back to Jeff. Like I said, he's a nine-year-old sixth-grader. According to him and his folks, he went through kindergarten at a normal pace, but sometime after after he started first grade, he was promoted to second. Then, in the middle of fourth grade, his teacher decided he could handle fifth-grade work. By then, he was barely eight years old.

I recently spoke to his mom during parent-teacher conference week, and she told me there was a possibility that he'd be promoted to seventh or eighth grade before the end of the school year. I was really impressed to hear that, but at the same time, I still hate to lose him.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. I entered the classroom, put my books on my desk, my bag under my desk, and my purse in my bottom desk drawer, then looked at the clock. There were ten more minutes until the bell rang, and I would soon have some students. (I don't usually see Jeff until fourth period.)

As I organized my stuff on my desk and studied the day's lesson plan, I thought a little about me and my twin sister Marilyn. Until we were eight years old, Mom dressed us alike, and we even had to wear name bracelets so people could tell us apart. That was really a pain in the ass, but we loved to trick baby-sitters by taking our bracelets off and switching them around, sometimes at the wrong time. We even had our own private language that we'd use whenever we had baby-sitters, but neither of us remembers our phrases now. We also had the same exact same hairstyles, until Mom finally let us get different looks. And we still wear our hair differently to this day. Marilyn's hair is waist-length, but she always wears it in either a bun, ponytail, or braid, and mine is not-only shoulder-length, but also has platinum-blond highlights in it. To this day, Marilyn absolutely refuses to do anything like that with her hair.

The one thing we hated more than anything else was that we were always given identical presents on our birthday and Christmas, and that came in second to being called "Marilyn-or-Carolyn", or "Very-Lynn", as Jamie Newton used to call us. Mallory Pike, another of our former baby-sitters, was the first one to realize that we were two different people—not just because of our mirror-image moles, but because of our personalities and main interests. Marilyn, a musician, took piano lessons from the time we were five, whereas I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and I'm completely tone-deaf. I'm into science, and Marilyn not only doesn't know the first thing about chlorophyll, she used to think that photosynthesis is the process in which photos are synthesized. The only thing we still have in common is our height. Neither of us are tall. I'm 5'4", and Marilyn is an even five feet. For some reason, shortness runs among the women in the Arnold family.

As the students in my first-period class poured into the room, I was really looking forward to the day.

Before I knew it, third period was ending. I was really looking forward to it, because I knew I'd be seeing my favorite genius. I know teachers aren't supposed to have pets, but with Jeff, I was willing to make an exception.

"Hi, Jeff," I said when he entered the room.

"Hi," he smiled. He put his books on the front desk in the third row, which is his usual seat. Then he opened his backpack, took a book out, and handed it to me. I looked at it, and saw that it was awfully similar to the one Mallory had given me for my eighth birthday.

"Thank you," I said. "That was really nice."

"No problem."  
During class, Jeff answered a lot of my questions correctly. See what I mean when I said that I hated to lose him to seventh grade right away? And the fact that the other kids were calling him "teacher's pet" didn't help, either.

I looked at Jeff, and saw him sitting there with his head in his hands. I could tell he really hated the way he was being treated. "Jeff, don't listen to them," I told him, fighting the frustration in my voice. I don't know who was more frustrated, him or me.

That was all this one kid, Brad Harmon, needed to see. He took a straw out of the spirals of his notebook, put it up to his nose, and with a single, powerful exhale, sent a slimy fleck of snot in Jeff's direction. Thankfully, it landed on the side of his desk instead of either of us, but it was still pretty disgusting.

What happened next is something I still can't believe. Before I could say anything to Brad, this real bruiser of a girl, Roxanne Marquez, was out of her seat in one second flat. She marched over to Brad's desk, grabbed him by his sweatshirt, and got right in his face.

"You better leave him alone, _pendejo," _she snarled through clenched teeth, in her deep, guttural Mexican accent. "And if you do that one more fucking time, you'll be wearing that pile of shit you call a bike around your neck."

"All right, that's enough, both of you," I sharply ordered. "Roxanne, get back to your seat. And Brad, next time, it's you, me, and the principal."

Sulking, Roxanne let go of Brad and sauntered back to her seat. Apparently, her threat of bodily harm worked, because for the rest of the period, Brad just sat there, not saying or doing anything.

As the last bell rang, I called out, "Jeff, could I see you for a minute, please?"

"Sure."

"I was just thinking about that book you gave me," I said as the last of my students left the room.

"Oh," he said. From the look on his face, I could tell that he thought he'd made a huge mistake. "Do you already have it? If you do, I can keep it."

"No, no, nothing like that," he said. "One of my former baby-sitters had given me one like it for my eighth birthday, but I lost it years ago, and I was wondering where you'd gotten it."

"My parents and I found it at a yard sale over the weekend," he said.

"Oh," I said. Then I reached into my desk, pulled something out, and handed it to him. "I found this at Wal-Mart over the weekend, and I thought you might like it."

"'World's Greatest Student'," he read. It was a statue of a little fox dressed like a scholar. "Gee, thanks, Ms. Arnold!" By the way, I should mention that he said that with a lisp, like Winthrop from _The Music Man. _I'd never noticed a lisp before, but I'm guessing he either had one when he was younger, or he was just so excited that it slipped out. On the upside, he didn't spit in my face when he said that.

"I never noticed you had a lisp," I commented.

"Oh. Well, I had one when I was little. Three, I think. I thought it'd go away by the time I was put in second grade, but it only comes out whenever I'm stressed or excited."

"Gotcha."

"Well, see you later," he said as he walked out of the room.

Since that was the last class of the morning, I grabbed my purse and headed to the cafeteria for lunch. I remembered some of the original BSC members telling me how Kristy Thomas used to make disgusting comments about the school lunch, but by the time lunchtime rolls around, I'm so hungry that I don't care what it tastes like. Also, I'm happy to announce that not only has the curriculum improved since the old days, but so has the food.

In spite of that scene during fourth period, I'd had a pretty good morning, and hoped I'd have a good afternoon.


	9. Chapter 8: Marilyn

**CHAPTER 8: Marilyn**

"Why did it have to rain today?" I grumbled. If there's one thing I've always hated, it's driving in the rain, especially on the way to Stamford, which is where I work. You see, I'm the music teacher at the Jeremy Brewer Day Center, which is a sheltered workshop for disabled people. Karen Hudson—formerly Brewer—once told me that it was started by her paternal grandfather. I've been working there for about a year, and there's been some chaotic moments; but for the most part, I can't really complain.

Well, I managed to get there in one piece, considering the huge downpour we were having. But when I got out of the car, the wind tore my umbrella to pieces before I could even get it open. _"Shit!"_ I yelled in frustration. My morning was not looking so good.

"Hang on, Marilyn, I'm coming!" a voice called. I looked up, and saw the center's fitness instructor running toward me. His name's Frank Zoeller, but we all call him Z. He's a 6'4", muscular guy about my age, with reddish-brown hair in a Caesar 'do, pale green eyes, and a golden tan. His general uniform is a white shirt—short-sleeved or tank top in warm weather, long-sleeved or sweatshirt in cooler—light blue track pants, or shorts in the summer, and white running shoes. All the women at the center, both staff and clients, think he's a major babe.

When he got to me, he opened his big black umbrella and held it for both of us. "Hop under," he told me.

"Thanks, Z," I smiled gratefully. "You know, I knew that umbrella was going to bite the dust soon, just not so quickly."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "That's the problem with those puny little travel umbrellas."

"I just hope this isn't a sign that the rest of my day's going to suck," I commented as we made our way inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rochelle Gagliardi (pronounced "gal-YAR-dee"), the art teacher, getting out of her orange SUV. Let's just say that if Claudia Kishi were middle-aged and Italian, she'd be Rochelle, "Hey, Z, next time can I be your damsel in distress?" she called.

Z and I laughed and shook our heads. With Rochelle, you're always laughing, no matter how rotten a mood you're in.

Somehow, despite my little umbrella fiasco, I had a pretty good morning, other than breaking up a few fights, and soon, it was time for lunch. I gave my money for Wendy's to Mary Ellen, who happens to be my assistant teacher. "Tell them I'll have a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger with the works, a medium fry, and a small Dr. Pepper."

"Sure," she said, taking my money and writing down my order.

I had just finished helping people set up their lunches when Mary Ellen returned and handed me my food. "Your change is in the bag," she told me.

"Thanks," I answered as I got my food, dug out my change, and put it in my pocket.

"Hey, I heard Z came to your rescue this morning," Mary Ellen commented with a big smile on her face as we set our own lunches up. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a night in the sack with him."

"Mary Ellen Baker!" I exclaimed as I somehow managed to avoid choking on a bite of burger.

"Hey, after catching that so-called husband of mine getting it on with the interior decorator, I think I'm entitled to a little TLC, don't you? And no, he never got the chance to say, 'Hey, how's it going?'"

"No comment," I told her, holding up my hands. Don't get me wrong, Mary Ellen's a great friend, but sometimes, she has such a naughty mind.

I ate my lunch, and had just thrown my trash away when the receptionist, Kendra King, came over the PA system. "It's time for third block. Please report to third block."

When I returned, after helping escort people to class, I set out my CDs for my special friend, Sandy Carroll. She'd started coming there around the same time I'd started working there, and even donated her old CDs that she doesn't listen to anymore, which are usually among the ones that I lay out for her. She's my age and height, and has shoulder-length blond hair that she keeps in a ponytail, dark blue eyes, and rimless glasses. She was born with hydrocephalus, and has what's called a VP shunt, which travels from her brain to her stomach. She's had three surgeries in her life: one when she was a newborn, one when she was four, and one when she was twelve, and has had no post-op complications or infections. But other than that, she's been in pretty good health since I've known her. She also once told me that she lives with two guys who are always respectful to her dad, calling him "Reverend", because he's a retired minister. And whenever the landlady comes to visit, she pretends to be a lesbian, so no one will suspect anything. It's kind of like a reverse _Three's Company._

Sandy's not the only one who makes life at the day center more interesting. For example, there's Gloria, who's pushing 80, and swears like a drunken sailor. And whenever she hears someone else swear, she always says, "Quit your cussing, you damned old cusser!" I still remember the time I said to her, "Gloria, how would your mom feel, knowing you talk like that?" And she said, "She'd join right in." Whenever someone tells Gloria to get to class, she always says, "Shit on that!" (Sometimes, if I'm the one to hear her, I'll think, _Shit on this, shit on that, and shit on you!)_ And every time she does a drawing in Rochelle's class, she'll walk around the workshop with it, and tell people she'll sell it to them for a dollar. The rest of the time, she's as sweet as they come.

Another real character is Jim, who's about twice my age, and in a wheelchair. He's always wanting to know which girl is going to be the lucky one to buy his dinner. I'm glad Rochelle warned me about that, and I can warn other new people. Once, Rochelle told me that one morning, he looked up at her and said, "Yes, I'll have rye toast, ham, and two eggs over-easy." He actually thought she was a waitress in a restaurant. That's a story I still get a laugh out of, even today.

Kathy is another real character. She's my age, with sandy-colored hair and huge, thick glasses, since she's nearsighted. And when you have a conversation with her, she takes everything you say literally, just like Amelia Bedelia. She also has a smart answer for everything. Angie Hall, the Life Skills instructor, once told me that one Tuesday, which is Hygiene day—where they do the girls' hair and make-up, and shave the guys—she asked Kathy what hygiene was. And you know what she did next? Without missing a beat, she looked Angie dead in the eye and said, "Genes that are high." But even though she doesn't always understand what you're trying to tell her, she's a doll.

And then there's Caroline, Kathy's best friend at the workshop. She's twelve years my senior, and has short black bobbed hair and dark brown eyes. She also has Down's syndrome, just like Dawn Schafer's friend in California, Whitney Cater. What she likes to do is, whenever someone tells her their age, she reverses the numbers. Once, I told her that I was twenty-five, and she said, "Turn it around, you're fifty-two." Also, whenever someone hurts themselves and says, "Ow!", she very cheerfully says, "Ow's not here." Other than that, she's a very nice lady, even though her singing isn't the greatest. Let's just say that if she and Abby Stevenson ever sang a duet, the auditorium would be empty in one second flat.

Most of the people here aren't that much of a problem. The one exception is Josh, who's a year younger than me, and has a speech impairment that makes his _S's _sound like a cross between a lisp and radio feedback. His one problem is that he likes to think he runs the place, and has to be constantly reminded that he's not in charge. One moment that sticks out in my mind is when we were on a field trip to Washington Mall. On the way, some idiot in a hot-rod cut off the driver of the van that Josh and I were in, along with several others, and Josh got the brilliant idea to look out the window, and shout at the top of his lungs, "GET OUT OF MY LANE, YOU SON OF A BITCH, OR WE'LL KICK YOUR ASS!" Since then, we've always made sure to never let him sit by the window again.

Okay, back to Sandy. Her favorite CDs are _High School Musical _(she likes to bounce the basketball to the rhythm of "Get'cha Head In The Game"), and _Beauty and the Beast, _both the Disney and Broadway versions. Last March, I saw their annual talent show, and she sang "Belle's Reprise" from that show. She looked really cute: dark brown wig with a light blue bow fixed in it, dark blue jumper with a white turtleneck, and black flats. One time, she told me that she'd sung in the church children's choir from the ages of six to eleven, and has had professional training since she was in middle school, which explains why she has such a beautiful voice.

Anyway, Sandy had just entered the room and taken her usual seat next to the CD player. "Hi, Sandy," I said.

"Hi, Marilyn," she answered as she put her CDs in the order that she wanted to listen to them. Of all the people in my third-block music class, she's the only one who knows how to operate the CD player. She once told me that she and her dad are the only ones who know how to work with electronics. I'd even heard that whenever her Walkman quits working, she permanently fixes it by throwing it against the wall, instead of having her dad take a look at it. Other than that, she's the sweetest girl I know.

"How are you?"

"Well, I'd be doing a lot better if my roommates didn't make living there feel like boot camp," she answered.

Uh-oh, this didn't sound good. "What's wrong?" I asked as I sat beside her at the table.

"Well," she began, "Daddy and I had been looking for someone for me to share the apartment with, so I could have help with the housework, cooking, things like that."

"What about the bills and stuff?"

"Daddy's my payee, so he takes cares of that."

"Oh, I see. So, what's wrong?"

Sandy took a deep breath. I could tell that she was trying not to cry. "Well, last night, Daddy and I went out to dinner, and when I came back, there they were. They were really nice to me at first, hanging up my coat and purse, asking me how dinner was, you know. But then, one of them started yelling at me."

"What? Why?"

"He said they found my diary," Sandy answered. Her voice was so soft that I could barely hear her. "I always keep it in the space between my bed and the nightstand, and I thought I'd hidden it well enough, but I guess I didn't. Somehow, they found it and read it. He just kept yelling and screaming at me, because of what I'd written about how much I hated living with them. His friend tried to talk to him, to calm him down, and..."

That's when the tears started falling. "Sandy?" I said gently, taking her hand. "What happened, baby?"

"He—he tried to hit him," she whispered, and started crying. "And they just had a screaming match. Oh, Marilyn, I was so scared. I thought they were going to hurt or kill each other."

"Oh, Sandy, shh," I whispered, putting my arms around her. I could hear her muffled sobs as she buried her face into my shoulder and felt her body shaking uncontrollably. All the while, I was furious. Not just because of her roommates invading her privacy, which they clearly had no right to do, but also because they'd scared her by getting into such a heated altercation.

After Sandy had calmed down, I handed her a Kleenex from the box on the counter behind me. "Are you okay now?" I asked. She wiped her eyes and nodded. "Listen, if you don't mind my asking, what are your roommates' names?"

"Brian and Troy."

"Okay, I was just wondering. Does your dad know about this?"

She shook her head. "I didn't tell him."

"Honey, you _have _to," I told her. "It might not be safe for you to live there anymore."

As soon as I said that, Sandy started crying again. "But I don't _want _to move!" she wailed. "I like my apartment!"

"Sandy, listen to me," I said, taking her face in my hands and forcing her look at me. "First of all, if you don't get out of there, you're sending the message to those guys that it's okay to treat you like that, and it isn't. Second, if you don't tell somebody, things _will _get worse. I once knew a kid whose father had a really short fuse, and he actually hit son for—get this—his newspaper being in the recycling bin. Is that the kind of place you want to live in?"

"No," she mumbled, drying her tears.

"I didn't think so. Listen, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to talk to Linda—you know, my boss—and ask her to call your dad. Then the three of us will sit down and put our heads together and figure out what to do, okay? You trust me?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to your SSA?" (An SSA is like a case manager.)

"I will."

"Good girl. All right, let's get started with class."

I hoped Sandy would work things out.

At the end of the day, I picked Carolyn up at work, and we headed home. Since we only have the one black Camaro between us, we take turns driving each day. I may get my own car someday, though.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Oh, pretty good," she answered. "Oh, remember Jeff, the genius I'm always talking about?" I nodded. "Well, look at what he gave me." She showed me the book. It looked awfully similar to the one Mallory had given her.

With my free hand, I ran my finger over the piano pin that Mallory had given me, which I wear on my left lapel. _God, I miss those days, _I thought. Life was so much simpler back then.

The next day, I saw Sandy before third block. "Did you talk to Judy Lang, honey?" I asked. (Yes, Judy is Sandy's SSA.)

She nodded. "She'll see what she can do."

"Good. Do you want her involved when Linda and I talk to your dad?"

Sandy shrugged. "Sure, why not?" she said.

During the block, Sandy played her favorite CDs. "I'm thinking about singing that in the next talent show," she said as "A Moment Like This" ended.

"Really?"

She nodded. "In fact, my cousin Ethan has the DVD of _The Best & Worst of American Idol, _and he let me watch it with him at least once."

"That was nice."

"Yeah. He's an artist in Seattle, and I only see him at family gatherings. His parents, who are also artists, live in New York, but I don't see them as often."

"Cool."

"Yeah. My other aunt, Daddy's sister, told me that she'd been in a production of _One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest_ last month. I didn't get to see it—well, mostly because I live in Stamford and my aunt lives in Pittsburgh—but I heard about it. She said that at one rehearsal, the guy who played Harding did the _Miss Congeniality _bit when he said one of his lines." Then, as if to demonstrate, Sandy said, "Oh, damn, why do I always cry?"

"That's cute," I said, laughing. "Who did your aunt play?"

"Nurse Ratched."

"I'll bet that was fun for her. Don't you wish you'd have seen the show?"

She nodded. "Like I said, I live in Stamford and she lives in Pittsburgh. I only see her at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and a week during the summer."

"Oh, I see," I said.

"Anyway, I told my aunt that it would've been so cool if Kelly Clarkson had done that when she'd won, and my aunt told me that Kelly was so overwhelmed from winning that it caused her to sweat."

I nodded. I was glad to see that Sandy could still have good days with what she was facing now.

That after we'd helped load the buses, I told Z what Sandy and I had talked about. "I can't believe it," he said softly. I could also tell that he was getting angry. "Those two assholes had the nerve to read that girl's diary, then jump down her throat about it?"

"I know," I agreed. "And you know what? As soon as we leave here, I'm going to talk to them myself."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. "Oh, no, you're not," he told me. "I'm not letting you put yourself in a dangerous position like that."

"Somebody has to do something, Z," I retorted. "I may be small, but that doesn't mean I can't defend myself."

"Fine, but I'm coming with you. The last thing I need on my conscience is you getting hurt."

"Okay," I agreed. It wasn't the way I'd hoped to resolve this, but it was better than nothing.


	10. Chapter 9:  Jake

**CHAPTER 9: Jake**

When I was growing up, one of the ways I used to control my anger—and also lose wight—was by doing something that required a lot of exercise, like riding my bike, jogging, or going to the gym. And after what happened with Marc, I really needed to get some exercise, which is why I was at this 24-hour gym about three blocks from our house. I was beating the shit out of one of those black leather punching bags, all the while pretending that the bag was Marc.

_Tell me how to fucking run _my_ house, will ya? _I thought. _If it wasn't for Charlotte and me, you'd be homeless, you ungrateful bastard. And did you really think I wouldn't tell Leslie to let you know that the other side of the duplex was available? I beg the principal to give me the afternoon off to bring her up to speed on things, and let you stay with us for free, and this is the thanks I get? _With that, I gave the bag a powerful roundhouse kick.

I guess I was really wrapped up in my anger and the beating I was giving that bag, because when I stopped to catch my breath, I heard a voice behind me say, "You know that bag's going to fall on you if you can't play nice, right?"

I knew it was Charlotte, because like I said before, she always manages to make you laugh, no matter how bad a day you're having. But this time, I didn't even have it in me to try. "Not now, okay?" I panted, without even looking up at her.

"So, did you have a good workout?" he asked.

"All the same," I answered as I made my way over to the bench. I took a huge gulp of water from my Patriots bottle, which my dad had given me for my birthday last year. It's navy blue stainless steel with the Patriots logo on one side, and the NFL logo on the other.

"Whoa, Jake. Jake, slow down, honey," Charlotte said quickly. "Remember what they say about not drinking too fast so you don't get a cramp?"

That's when I stopped drinking and slammed my bottle down hard on the surface of the bench. "You know, it's bad enough I have to listen to Commandant Control-Freak order me around and criticize my every move, but I sure as hell don't need to hear it from you!" I shouted. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were starting to have feelings for that little weasel!" I knew it was a nasty thing to say, but I was too fired up to even think about that. It wasn't until I saw the shocked look on her face that I realized what I'd done.

"I—I can't believe you just said that to me, Jake," she whispered. "I was just asking if you were okay."

In that instant, my anger faded, and I sat there feeling like the world's biggest schmuck. I mean, this was Charlotte, who I loved so much, trying to comfort me, and helping me get control of myself. And what do I do? Take it out on her. Was I a catch or what?

"I'm sorry, baby," I said tenderly. "I didn't mean that. I had no right to say that."

"Damn right, you didn't," Charlotte said, looking hurt. "And how the hell do you think I feel, listening to the two of you constantly arguing?"

"Well, he always starts it," I pointed out. "In case you have forgotten, he does not own that house, and his name is not on that lease. So he has no right to treat us like that. Don't you feel the slightest bit taken advantage of?"

"Well—maybe a little," Charlotte admitted. "But he's not always like that. At work, he's polite to the staff and patients, and I never once heard him say anything bad to, or about, anybody."

"What a prince," I muttered sarcastically. It made me wonder if I was the only one who knew what kind of person Marc really was.

"And did you know that after you left, he came to me and not only apologized for how he'd been acting, but he also gave me all the money he'd found lying around the house?" Charlotte continued. "He was going to keep it for himself and blow it all on junk food just to be a jerk; but after your big blow-up, he felt so guilty that he changed his mind, and he also said he'd stay at a motel for a while. Now does that sound like the kind of guy who only gives a shit about himself?"

I thought about that for a minute. I don't know why, but it reminded me of when Buddy Barrett invited me to his mom's wedding. You see, my dad had walked out on us the year before, and when Buddy invited me to the wedding, I thought he was mocking me, because he was getting a stepdad, whereas my own father didn't live with us anymore. I was so pissed off that I swore I'd never speak to Buddy or his family again, until Mary Anne Spier assured me that wasn't the case at all. In that moment, I began to understand just how childish I was being. Now, I know you're going to remind me that Marc was taking advantage, which he was, and I have every right to be upset with him, which is also true. I'm not disagreeing with you, but it did occur to me that this wasn't the way to handle things. In short, the way I was acting was no different than when Buddy invited me to his mom's wedding.

"I suppose you're right," I sighed.

"Okay," Charlotte said. "So, do you feel like going home now?"

"Sure," I agreed as we got up from the bench. "By the way, how did you get here? I have the car."

"My bike," Charlotte answered. "I guess both of us got some exercise out of it, right?"

"Uh-huh," I agreed. "What do you say we get more exercise when we get home, if you know what I mean?"

"Jake Kuhn, you naughty boy!" Charlotte laughed as she playfully slapped my arm with the back of her hand.

As we left the gym, I felt better about talking to Charlotte, but at the same time, I still had that suspicion that if we talked to Marc, it wouldn't make any difference.

The next afternoon, I picked Charlotte up after work. "Oh, I got you a Tab," she said as she got in the car.

"Really? How did you know I was thirsty for one?"

"Oh, I was thinking about getting one myself. Just give me a Tab, a can of Ranch Pringles, and my World Cup DVD, and I'm a happy man."

After Charlotte finished laughing, she cleared her throat and said, "Oh, by the way, I talked to Marcus on my lunch hour today."

Great. After hearing that asshole's name, there went my good mood. "You mean he was actually on his best behavior today? I'm shocked," I said sarcastically.

"For your information, he was off today, so he called me from the motel," Charlotte said. "You know, I wish you'd stop letting what happened the other day get to you."

"Well, when he learns how to respect people, I'll be nicer to him. How's that?"

"Fine," she sighed. "And just so you won't be kept in the dark, I invited Marcus over for dinner tomorrow, and also so we can talk."

I shrugged. I still didn't want him in our house anymore, or anything else to do with him, but I kept quiet about it and drove on, as a favor to Charlotte. The last thing I wanted to do was get into a huge screaming match with her.

"Oh, here's the money," she said, taking the envelope out of her purse. "He also told me that his dad once did something like that, too."

"Like father, like son," I commented as we arrived downtown and parked beside the bank.

"Now, look, Jake, I don't blame you for being upset, but Marcus apologized for what he did," Charlotte reminded me. "And he wants to make it up to us. Don't you think we owe it to him to hear him out?"

That was it. I was stuck, and Charlotte wasn't going to back down unless I went along with the whole thing. Let's just say she didn't make the high school debate team for nothing.

"I guess," I agreed, taking a drink of Tab. "But I'm only going to say this once: if he steps out of line again, he is gone, bag and baggage."

"Okay," she said. "When the three of us sit down and talk tonight, I don't want to hear you screaming or insulting each other. We're going to discuss this calmly and rationally, agreed?"

I nodded.

Before we got out of the car, I counted the money. There was $225.50. "Okay, it all seems to bee here," I said. "Let's go."

We went into the bank with our money. "Can I help you?" the teller asked as we stepped up to the window.

"Yes," I answered. "We'd like to put this in our account." I counted out $100.50 to split between me and Charlotte, and handed her the rest. While she counted it, I handed Charlotte her half of the money, and put my half in my wallet.

"Thank you," the teller said, handing me a receipt. "Have a nice day."

"You, too," I said, and we walked out of the bank.

I was glad to have gotten that out of the way, and after we talked to Marc, I hoped we'd be able to get along a lot better than we had been.


	11. Chapter 10:  Charlotte

**CHAPTER 10: Charlotte**

When we got home, Marcus was sitting on the porch. "Hi, you guys," he called as we got out of the car.

"Hi," I answered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake looking at Marcus as if to say, _You try anything, and so help me God, I'll break every bone in your body._

"We're just going to put the pot of chili on," Jake told him, acting like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Marcus nodded, turned around and went in. Whether or not he knew how Jake was feeling, I don't know. I suspected he knew damn well how upset Jake was. I would, if I were in that position.

When we got inside, Marcus headed to the bathroom to wash up as Jake and I went to the kitchen. Jake took the pot of chili out of the fridge, and put it on the stove as I got three bowls out of the cupboard, three spoons out of the drawer, and three glasses out of the dish drainer.

"Water for me, Charlotte," Marcus said as I got the pitcher of raspberry tea out of the fridge. "Thanks."

"Sure," I agreed. "Uh, I don't put too much sugar in it, do I?"

"No, your tea's fine; I guess I'm just in a water mood."

I happened to glance over my shoulder while pouring our drinks, and I could very clearly hear Jake muttering under his breath while he stirred the chili. "...that ugly, rotten sack of shit...(grumble, grumble)...can't stand him...(grumble)...wannt to just pound him into the goddamn ground...(grumble, grumble)...somebody better call 911 'cause there's goning to be a homicide..."

When Jake looked up from the stove, he saw the way I was looking at him. The last time I had that look on my face was when I caught Andrea Prezzioso playing with her mom's favorite pearl necklace, which we Baby-sitters—as well as Jenny—had told her a million times to never, ever fool around with. And that was all it took to shut him up.

Dinner was pretty silent. The guys spent the whole time avoiding eye contact and refusing to speak to each other. They did, however, talk to me, especially if they wanted me to pass them something like the salt and pepper. In the back of my mind, I thought, _You two are acting like such babies. _If I had the chance, that's exactly what I would've said to them.

"Oh, I got an e-mail from Mary Anne today," I said, as if that's what we'd been discussing all along.

"Oh, really?" Jake asked, taking a sip of tea. "How's she doing?"

"Pretty good. Remember when I told you about their daughter, Mimi?"

"Yeah. She's autistic, right? Like Susan Felder?"

"Actually, Mimi has Asperger's syndrome," I explained. "Susan is profoundly autistic. Even though she can play the piano and sing beautifully, she can't really communicate with others too well. She's gotten better at it since we first met her, but it's still hard sometimes. Mimi, on the other hand, NEVER stops talking. She can go on for hours on end about _Charlie & Lola, _and can even imitate their accents."

"Oh, okay," Jake said. "She sounds like a walking encyclopedia."

"I'll say! Sure, she can drive you crazy sometimes, but she's a real sweetheart."

I happened to look in Marcus' direction, and saw him sitting there, staring at his bowl. Apparently, he wasn't very hungry.

After we finished eating, the three of us headed to the living room. I sat on the ottoman, Jake sat in the armchair, and Marcus sat on the futon. "Marc, we need to talk," Jake said.

"Yeah?" Marcus said, folding his arms and scooting as far back into the corner of the futon as he could.

"We couldn't help noticing how you've been acting lately, and it scares us," I said. "Well, mostly me. What's going on?"

"Well, as Jake knows, I've always had a problem with being interrupted," Marcus began. "I also have a problem with people consulting others and doing things without letting me know. And ever since I was a kid, I've always hated being corrected when I make a mistake. I mean, haven't you?"

I nodded. "I think we've all been there," I said. "But this is about you."

"Right." Marcus took a deep breath and continued, "I'm sorry for taking the money, first of all. I was just trying to pay back the rent I still owed on my old apartment. I'm just glad it's finally paid off."

I nodded. "Tell us more about yourself," I said.

"Well, as you know, I have an older brother and a younger sister, Harry and Jeannette," he began. "My parents got married right out of high school, and my brother was born less than a year later. He was in kindergarten when I was born, and I was getting ready to start first grade when my sister was born. Our parents were killed in a car accident the summer I was nine, and we were sent to live with Mom's sister in New Jersey. She raised us until she died of cancer my senior year of high school, and my siblings and I moved to Mercer. Harry took charge of the house, because he was of age, and my sister and I were able to finish school. Of course, a caseworker from Job and Family Services checked up on us once a month, because—well, that was their job. After I graduated, I moved to Stamford for college and here for my internship. And as for the money, Dad lost his job around the time my sister was born, and we were desperate with five mouths to feed, so Dad would go out and pretty much beg, borrow, and steal whatever he could get his hands on. Luckily, he never spent nineteen years in jail for stealing a loaf of bread, and our parents were pretty sane, so my sister and I didn't have to worry about them deliberately making one or both of us sick to get money. The cops never caught Dad, either, and—get this: when the town learned of our situation, they tried to help in any way they could."

I nodded, and pretended to take notes, which made both guys laugh, albeit a little awkwardly.

"What about this money habit?" Jake asked.

"Well," Marcus said, "I've never stolen before. I guess I just did it out of desperation, like Dad did."

Jake and I nodded. It was glad to have gotten everything out in the open, and that he explained his behavior.

"Okay," Jake said, clearing his throat. "Look, Marc, we're sorry for everything you've been through growing up. Believe me, I wouldn't wish that sort of thing on my worst enemy. But Charlotte and I don't like the way you've been acting toward us, especially that little stunt you pulled when we came home from the wrestling meet. How would you like it if we announced personal business about your family to the whole neighborhood?"

I really have to give Jake credit for trying to control his temper. If I were him, I would've read Marcus the riot act big-time.

Anyway, that was the question that made Marcus hang his head. He really felt ashamed of himself. I hadn't seen anyone look that guilty since the time Kristy nailed me and a few other kids for reading the BSC notebook. It still amazes me to this day that she wasn't screaming bloody murder at us.

"I'm sorry, Jake," he said softly, looking at the floor. "I didn't mean that. It's just that I didn't know anything about the other side of the duplex being available."

"But I told you that before you moved in, remember?" I reminded him. It really surprised me that he'd forgotten about it.

"Oh, that's right," Marcus said. He must have felt like an idiot. "I guess I forgot."

"So, why did you do that?" Jake wanted to know. "Why did you embarrass me in front of my girlfriend?"

Marcus sighed heavily. It was very obvious that he was trying not to cry. "I thought you were getting rid of me," he answered in a small voice. "I mean, first my parents get killed, then my aunt dies, now this. I just feel like everybody I know is ditching me. Did you know that the call I got from Jeannette was the first time I'd heard from her in two months? It's like she's too busy with school to talk to her own brother. And I haven't seen or heard from Harry since he moved to Atlanta last summer. You know what the worst part is? They just up and left without saying good-bye."

"Well, just because they're too busy with their own lives doesn't mean they don't care about you, Marcus," I said gently, walking over and sitting next to him on the futon. "And I don't think they meant to leave without saying good-bye. Sometimes it just happens." Marcus just shrugged and looked away.

"You know what I think?" Jake said after a minute. "Granted, I don't know the first thing about psychology, but I think you were afraid of the possibility of that sort of thing happening again. You didn't want to be put in that position with us, so you treated us the way you did before we could get a chance to know you. You thought that just when you had something good going, something would come along and take it all away. And you felt the only way to prevent that was to mess it up on purpose before it had the chance to turn into something good. Does that about cover it?"

"I guess," Marcus admitted, a catch in his voice. "I'm so sorry, you guys. I didn't know what I was thinking. I wish I'd never done it."

I handed Marcus a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table. He took it, and I wrapped him in a hug. And yes, he was already crying by now. "Shh," I whispered. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

"It won't happen again, I swear to God," Marcus sobbed.

"Don't let it," Jake said in the most matter-of-fact voice I'd ever heard him use.

After Marcus finally calmed down, he said, "Oh, by the way, I've got something for you." He got up, went to the coat rack, and took a little white envelope out of his inside jacket pocket. "This is the last of the money I owe you," he said as he handed it to Jake. "I got this from doing odd jobs around the motel I'm staying at, as well as raking leaves for some of the neighbors. I know it's not all the money I owe you, but it's the best I can do right now."

"Thanks, Marc," Jake said as he handed the envelope to me. I counted $74.50. "That's very considerate of you."

"Sure," Marcus said. "And by the way, about your sister's boyfriend and all? I made the whole thing up. She did call, though."

As soon as Marcus said that, something occurred to Jake. "I forgot to call her back, didn't I?" he realized. _"Shit! _Laurel hates it when people don't call her back. Oh, she'll never let me hear the end of this!"

"Oh, she'll get over it," I reassured him.

"Yeah, in about a million years."

"Here, this should cheer you up," Marcus said, taking a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and handing it to me.

"What's this?" I asked as I unfolded it.

"A lease on an apartment downtown," he answered. "I got a call from my friend, Keith, this morning. He's starting a job at the community college, and is looking for a place to stay, so we got together at this complex, and got the apartment. Starting tomorrow, we'll be moving there."

"Really? That's great!" I exclaimed as he and Jake high-fived. "Will you still have the same job?"

"It'll be a twenty-minute drive, but yes."

This was great news, and as Marcus predicted, it cheered Jake right up.

Later that night, we were in bed, listening to the rain fall. We were also making love, and the fact that it was just the two of us again, made it feel even better than before.

"A penny for your thoughts?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbow sometime after we'd finished.

"Well, I'm just glad that the whole mess is finally over with," Jake said. "You know, as much of a pain in the ass as we was, I will give him credit for respecting our privacy."

"Yeah, I'm also glad he didn't tap into our e-mail accounts and change our passwords, invite people over without our permission, or keep us up at all hours of the night. And best of all, I didn't have to fight him off every day like he was Pepe lé Pew."

Jake laughed softly. "Yeah, it's a good thing he behaved himself. Otherwise, he'd probably be in the ICU right now."

I laid on top of Jake and rested my head on his shoulder as he ran his fingertips up and down my back, sides and butt, which really tickles, especially when I'm naked. That's the one thing he always does when we're in bed, and once in a while, it escalates into a full-on tickle-fight.

"I'm really proud of you for not losing your temper and getting yourself in trouble," I said as I settled myself next to him and gently stroked his hair and face. "I knew he was egging you on, and waiting for you to blow your stack. And I thought for sure you were seriously going to hurt him, too. I'm glad you didn't."

"Me, too, babe," Jake agreed. "Me, too. Hey, Char?"

"Hmm?"

"I was just wondering: are you sure your supervisor doesn't know about this?"

"Yeah," I answered. "I know I probably should've told Shelia, but I didn't want it to get out. Why?"

"They don't know he was living here?"

I shook my head, not knowing how Jake would feel about my not telling anyone about the situation.

"Well, I don't suppose it would've been such a big deal if anyone knew," Jake finally said. "Now, if they found out what he was doing, then there'd be a problem."

I nodded. "And they don't know he was taking money, either."

"Personally, if it were me, I definitely would've blown the whistle on him," Jake pointed out. "But at any rate, it's all over now, so I really don't see any point in pursuing this any further, do you?"

"No," I agreed as I put his hand on my breast. "Now, let's get some shut-eye, okay?"

Jake nodded, and we gave each other a kiss.

As we drifted off to sleep, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. We were still together, and still loved each other. Marcus had apologized for how he'd treated us and found a place to live, just as he promised. In that moment, everything was the way it should be.


	12. Chapter 11:  James

A/N: For all you _ER _fans, this chapter contains references to the Season 15 episode, "Age of Innocence". You know, the one where Brenner confides in Morris about what happened to him as a kid. (And just out of curiosity, why _did_ everybody always confide in Morris?)

**CHAPTER 11: James**

"So let me get this straight," Nathaniel said the next morning. We were having brecky at Lou's, a diner just around the corner from the hospital. "You and Bonnie are officially an item?"

"Officially," I answered, taking the last bite of eggs.

Nathaniel shook his head and grinned. I could tell he was really enjoying this. By sheer coincidence, the song that happened to be playing on the jukebox was "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars, which is also on the _Glee _soundtrack. When I hear that song, it always reminds me of my last year with the Stoneybrook Kids, because that was when we competed in Disney World, and "Just the Way You Are" was one of the songs we did.

"You know, Hobart, when we were in med school, I _knew _you had the hots for her," he laughed, pointing his fork in my direction. "Remember what you kept telling me when I told you to ask her out?"

"Well, she _did _have a boyfriend," I reminded him. "Mark O'Shea, remember? Tall guy, black hair, porn-star moustache, BMW, acted like he was God's gift to women? Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, and where is he now? Working his ass off in some overcrowded, under-funded, falling-apart HMO down in Ft. Lauderdale."

"Your point being?"

"My point _being, _I was right about you," Nathaniel told me, looking at me like I'd just asked the single dumbest question in the world. "And like I told you after graduation, you never know until you ask her."

"You sound just like my little brother," I muttered as I finished my coffee.

"Seems like your little brother and I think alike," Nathaniel commented as we got up to pay for our food. Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciated Nathaniel for being happy for Bonnie and me, but I also wished he wasn't making such a big deal out of it.

The three of us arrived at work later that morning and found Dr. Greene erasing a patient's name off the board. "Good morning, guys," she called over her shoulder. "Dr. Williams, take the sprained ankle in Exam Three; Dr. Stevens, the earache in Exam Two; and Dr. Hobart, you take the incoming patient." We nodded and swung into action.

Just then, we heard a loud buzz and the security doors slid open. Two EMTs wheeled a gurney inside. "Deanna Hill, twenty, anaphylactic shock," one of them reported. "BP's 90/70, pulse 116, temp's 99.6, mild LOC." The girl's friend was close behind.

"What happened?" I asked.

"We were baking cookies for a party later this afternoon, and she was sampling them, then she got sick," the friend answered.

"Is she allergic to anything?" Dr. Thornton asked, putting on her stethoscope, as we followed the gurney to Exam One.

"I don't know."

"Does she have a list of allergies somewhere?"

"I've got her purse. Maybe there's something in there," the friend said, handing it to me.

I opened her purse and went through it. "Ah, here we are," I said, pulling a card out of her wallet. "Oh, no."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Allergies: chocolate, peanut butter, and nuts." That's when it hit me like a ton of bricks. Alarmed, I turned to the friend and asked, "What were you putting in the cookies?"

The friend's eyes widened in horror, and the look on her face clearly said, _Oh, dear God, no. _I could tell she thought she'd made a huge mistake.

"We were baking three kinds: peanut butter, chocolate chip, and walnut raisin," the friend answered, fighting the panic in her voice. "Oh, my God, what have I done?"

She was about three seconds away from coming unglued, so I stepped in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders. "It's all right," I said, trying to calm down. "Look at me, darling. What's your name?"

"Stephanie," she answered.

"Stephanie, listen to me," I said. "This is not your fault. It was an accident, and it could happen to anybody. The important thing is that you called 911 and got Deanna here, and we're going to help her, okay?"

Still fighting the tears, she nodded.

"Wait over there. We'll be with you shortly," Dr. Thornton said, gesturing toward the row of chairs. "Dr. Hobart?" I followed my superior to Exam One.

We worked on Deanna for about twenty minutes before we were able to stabilize her, then Dr. Thornton went out to talk to Stephanie. Even though she was still feeling guilty about what happened, she seemed to be much calmer than before.

After I got back from lunch, the doors opened again. "MVA," the EMT reported. "Paul Roth, thirty-nine, diabetic, found passed out at the wheel, but started coming around when we gave him dextrose. BP's 101/67, pulse 92, temp's 98.8. Pike and Evans are behind us with the passenger."

"Bobbi Henson, six, BP's 99/76, pulse 88, temp's 99.4. Complains of belly pain," Margo reported.

"Take him to Trauma Two, and the girl to Curtain Area One," Dr. Greene ordered.

Dr. Thornton and I followed the little girl's gurney. "Can you talk to me, honey?" Dr. Thornton asked, putting on her stethoscope.

"It hurts!" she whimpered. She was a cute kid: long, flaming-red hair in braids, blue eyes, and a _ton_ of freckles. She looked like a cross between Jackie Rodowsky, the girl on the Wendy's logo, and the title character from _Anne of Green Gables._

"Yes, I know it does," Dr. Thornton said. "We're going to take care of that." Then she ordered the nurse who was with us to bring in the ultrasound machine.

Thankfully, Bobbi wasn't hurt severely, except for a tiny cut on her bottom lip and a large burn mark on her stomach from the seatbelt. "Belly's clear," the nurse reported.

"And her neck is fine, too," I added as I carefully removed the C-collar. "Good thing you were wearing your seatbelt. Okay, let's sit her up."

As I propped up the head of the examining table, I heard Dr. Thornton say, "Whoa, wait a minute, y'all."

"What is it?" the nurse asked.

"She's got bruises on her thighs and an abrasion on her hymen."

Upon hearing that, I felt a chill run down my spine. That could only mean one thing. "Can you tell us what happened?" I managed to ask.

"I was playing in my front yard when Mr. Roth came out of his house and asked if I wanted to see his horse," she said. "I love horses, so I went with him." I nodded, because Mallory also loves horses. "Anyway, he drove me out into the woods, but I didn't see a barn anywhere."

"Then what?" Dr. Thornton asked gently.

Bobbi took a deep breath, forcing herself not to cry. "He—he took my pants off," she whispered.

At that, I felt my whole body go completely numb. Just the thought of what this child must have endured was enough to make anyone sick.

"We need to do a rape exam," Dr. Thornton told me. "Dr. Hobart? Hey, you awake?"

I immediately pulled myself together. "Right away," I answered, then I pushed the door open and asked another nurse, "Can we get a rape kit in here?"

"Sure thing," she answered.

"Now, sweetie, we need you to put this gown on," Dr. Thornton said. I kept my back turned, and waited for the kit, while the girl changed her clothes.

A few minutes later, the nurse brought the kit. "Okay, we need you to put your legs up and spread them apart. I'm going to cover you with this blanket." The nurse got the girl settled, then left the room.

"Now, this is probably going to hurt a little," Dr. Thornton said as she sat on the stool and wheeled it over to the girl, "but Dr. Hobart is going to help you relax, okay?"

Bobbi nodded as I stood by her head and took her hand. "Squeeze my hand if it starts to hurt too much, okay?" I said. "Just try not to break it."

"I won't," she giggled. I was a little surprised to see that this little girl, with all that she must have endured, could still smile.

"So, your name's Bobbi, huh?" I asked. She nodded. "Has anyone ever called you Bobbi Bear?"

She giggled again. "No," she said, "but I have about a dozen teddy bears at home. Some of them were Grammy's and Mommy's before they were mine."

"Wow," I said. "What grade are you in?"

"First."

"What are your favorite movies?"

"I like the _Ice Age _ones." Then I heard a gasp and felt a really tight squeeze on my hand. "Sorry."

"That's all right. I've always been partial to the _Mad Max _ones myself."

"What's _Mad Max?"_

"They were before your time," I explained. "And they're not exactly what you'd call kid-friendly. I still remember the summer I was ten, and my friend Dave was spending the night. That's when we saw one for the first time. You see, we couldn't sleep, so we snuck downstairs to the den to watch a movie. As luck would have it, we came across one called _The Road Warrior. _We were really getting into it, and I guess we were making too much noise, because my brother Ben found us, and when he saw what we were watching, he _freaked."_

"What did he do?"

"He ran over to the TV, shut it off, and swore he'd kill us both if he ever caught us watching an R-rated movie again."

Needless to say, Bobbi dissolved into a fit of giggles, somehow managing to hold still during the exam.

"There, all done!" Dr. Thornton announced as she cleaned Bobbi up and the nurse switched off the Woods lamp.

"See you later, okay?" I said, patting Bobbi's shoulder. "And don't worry, we called your parents. They're on their way over."

"Thanks, Dr. Hobart," she said.

I walked into Trauma Two to see how Mr. Roth was doing, when all of a sudden, I saw Michael punch the guy dead in the face. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" he shouted as Mr. Roth slumped to the floor. "HOW COULD YOU DO A THING LIKE THAT! WHAT DID THAT POOR LITTLE GIRL EVER DO TO YOU!"

Michael started to straddle the guy to do more, but Nathaniel and I rushed over. "Michael, stop it!" I shouted as we grabbed him and pulled him off. Michael struggled against our grasp and in the heat of the moment, he accidentally kicked me in the shin, which happened to the leg I'd broken when I was eight.

"Ahh, shit!" I screamed as I released Michael's arm and grabbed my leg where I'd been kicked. In the meantime, Nathaniel fought his way in front of Michael and, with all the strength of a charging bull, slammed him back-first against the wall.

"Go cool off, dude," Nathaniel ordered. In no time flat, Michael stopped struggling. I guess he realized just how much bigger and stronger Nathaniel was. At any rate, I just knew Michael was in for it.

Then I saw tears welling up in Michael's eyes. Without another word, he balled up his fists and ran out of the room. This time, Nathaniel didn't try to stop him.

"Help him up," I told Nathaniel. "I'm going to see what Michael's deal is."

"Right."

As I followed him, I thought, _What's his problem?_

I caught up with Michael in the lounge. He was grabbing empty cups and crumpled bits of paper and flinging them into the trash can with all his strength. "What the bloody hell was that?" I demanded. I was really fuming.

"None of your damn business," Michael snapped as he slammed the wastebasket down onto the floor.

"Now, wait just a minute," I barked, stepping in front of him. "I saw what you did out there. You know how much trouble you're in, right?"

"I don't care," Michael growled. "That guy's guilty. I know it. I know what kind of person he is."

"What? What the..."

And that's when it dawned on me. "Something happened to you when you were a kid, right?" I finally asked.

He nodded, and that's when I saw the tears fall. "Listen, I was just about to go on my break. Why don't we go up to the patio for a minute?"

"Okay," he whispered, and the two of us headed toward the elevators.

On the way, we saw Bonnie. "James, Dr. Greene says she wants to see you and Michael right away," she said.

"Not now," I answered as the elevator opened. I knew I'd be in big trouble by disobeying a superior, but at the moment, I had other things on my mind.

When we got to the top floor, we got a couple of vanilla lattes from the cafe and headed outside. Then I saw Michael reach into his outside coat pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes. "When did you start smoking, mate?" I inquired.

"College," he answered as he sat down on a chair and shook out one of the pack, then offered it to me. I shook my head, and watched him light it.

"Now, can you tell me what that episode downstairs was all about?"

Michael took a deep, long drag on his cigarette and a sip of his latte. "My mom was a prostitute," he began. "I was conceived during a one-night stand. When Mom went to find the guy to tell him that she was pregnant, she couldn't track him down, so I not only never knew my real father, but she also had to raise me all by herself. The summer before I started kindergarten, she met this one guy named Stan. He worked in the salvage yard, so his jacket always had grease stains on it. He also looked a little like you, except he didn't have freckles."

He had to stop himself for a minute so he could keep his voice steady, but I could tell was going to start crying any second.

"He'd always bring Mom a dozen roses or a bottle of wine, and me a stuffed animal or a bag of candy," he continued. "After they dated a few months, he took us into his apartment. He was so nice to let us stay with him, because that meant no more homeless shelter, one of those shitty Motel 6 rooms, or an efficiency apartment with a Murphy bed. For the first time in my life, I had my own room. Stan even helped me decorate it with all this Pokémon stuff."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He was, at first. He taught me how to swim, ride a two-wheeler, you name it. Well, that summer, he took me on a road trip, but he didn't tell Mom where we were going or why, none of that."

I sat beside him. "Did the police look for you?" he asked.

He shook his head, and then started crying. Honestly, I hadn't seen anyone cry that much Claire Pike told me that her great-uncle Joe had died when she was a freshman in high school. "They appear to be nice, James," he sobbed. "That's what they do. We were at a motel just outside of Tulsa, far away from Cleveland, where we'd come from. During the trip, Stan mostly tried to be my best friend, and acted interested in everything I had to say. I thought he was wonderful, but when we got to the hotel..." He slumped over and rested his head on his arms, his platinum-blond curls falling around his face, just crying and shaking like a leaf. I had a packet of tissues in my pocket, so I handed him one. After taking it, he raised his head, wiped his eyes, and said, "That sick bastard took off his clothes, then mine."

_Oh, my God, _I thought. Michael rocked back and forth as he continued crying.

"The walls were so thick that if I screamed, no one could've heard me," he continued as he stopped rocking. "After he had his way with me, if you will, he just went to sleep, like nothing had happened. The day after that, we returned to Cleveland. He never said anything about it, never even gave me one hint of an apology, or even a simple explanation as to why the hell he did that to me. A few weeks later, he was arrested for the kidnapping, but that's it."

"Does your mum know?"

Michael shook his head. "In fact, I never told anyone about it until now," he sniffled. "On the way back to Cleveland, Stan told me that if I ever told anyone, he'd kill Mom. I mean, I knew what he did was wrong, and I wanted to tell Mom, but I just couldn't. I was glad he was in jail, and wasn't allowed to see us anymore, but I was also afraid he'd come back if I told. The worst part about it all is the guilt. You feel like you brought this on, like you asked for it. You ask yourself over and over again why you didn't fight back, or tell him no, or even tell anyone what happened. You—you think it's your fault."

After a moment of silence, I said, "Mike, do you need to talk to somebody about this? It doesn't just go away."

"We should get back to work," he whispered, raising his head. It was obvious he was avoiding my question completely.

"If it's still affecting you, then you have to deal with it."

"I _am _dealing with it," he said adamantly. "In my own way."

"Please get some help," I told him as I stood up.

"No, no, I don't want this to go to court."

"It won't," I told him. In the back of my mind, however, I just knew that Dr. Greene had somehow found out all about it, and was waiting for her chance to read him the riot act.

As I left Michael to finish his cigarette and latte, I really hoped he'd take my advice.

I was halfway to the elevator when the doors opened, and out came a very upset Dr. Greene. "Where's Dr. Stevens?" she asked.

"He's still out on the patio," I answered. "Listen, can I talk to you?"

"Sure," she answered. I guess she noticed my body language and tone of voice, because she said, "Let's get out of the hallway." I nodded and followed her to one of the storage rooms.

After Dr. Greene shut the door and turned to face me, I told her about my conversation with Michael, and her face turned pale. "Oh, sweet Jesus," she murmured, gripping the railing on the wall. "He must feel horrible."

"I'll say. I'd known him since med school, and I've never seen him like this."

"Has he ever told anyone about this?"

"No. I'm the only one he's told do far."

"Well, we need to talk to him so something can be done about it. Let's go."

When we arrived at the patio, I saw Michael wiping tears from his eyes and smoking his cigarette. Dr. Greene approached him and touched his arm. "Dr. Stevens?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, not looking at either of us.

"Dr. Hobart just told me what happened," she began. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you when you were a kid, but next time we get a case like this, you _must _control yourself."

Michael nodded, took one last drag on his cigarette, and put it out, as the tears started falling again. "Do you need to talk to someone down in Psych?" Dr. Greene asked, handing him a tissue.

Michael shook his head. "It might help," I told him as I patted his shoulder.

"Come on," Dr. Greene said gently, taking his arm and helping him to his feet. I picked up his empty cup and tossed it in the trash can on the way to the elevator.

"I'll be fine," Michael told us. "And I'm sorry, Dr. Greene."

"I know you are, but because of what happened, it's my job to inform you that first thing tomorrow morning, the three of us are going to meet with the dean to discuss what happened, and we'll go from there."

Michael nodded. "Is Roth going to press charges?" he asked.

"He didn't say anything about that, but if he really wanted to, he could."

"Oh, God, I really did it now," Michael moaned.

"Hold on, I didn't say he was going to for sure," Dr. Greene told him. "We don't know that yet. It won't do any of us any good to worry about it, least of all you. The only thing we can do right now is talk to someone down in Psych, and we'll deal with the rest when the time comes. Okay?"

"Okay."

As impressed as I was with how Dr. Greene handled it, I also knew Michael was going to be in big trouble. And seeing him pass by Trauma Two and glaring at Roth through the window, didn't make me feel any better, either.

That day after my shift ended, I went back to my apartment, sat down at my laptop, and turned it on. I was going to go online for a while.

After watching a few videos on YouTube, I turned on my WebCam and opened Yahoo Messenger. The first thing I saw was that Charlotte Johanssen was online. As we chatted, I told her about what happened that day, and how concerned I was about Michael. She told me not to pressure him, but that he'd seek help on his own when he was ready. Until then, she said that she and Jake would be thinking of him.

_I really hope she's right, _I thought. I didn't want Michael to wind up in trouble with the authorities over this. If that man pressed charges, Michael could be looking at the possibility of losing his license—or, God forbid, jail time.

And for a guy like him, that would be the worst thing that could happen.


	13. Chapter 12:  Nick

A/N: I'm sorry if anything in the previous chapter was too graphic for you.

**CHAPTER 12: Nick**

_"All hail the power of Jesus' name, let angels prostrate fall...Bring forth the royal di-i-a-a-dem, and crown him Lord o-of all. Bring forth the royal di-i-a-a-dem, and crown him Lo-o-ord of all!"_

That's the hymn I was singing as my came down the hall from the chapel after the evening service, and back to my room. It was my last year of seminary, and in the spring, I was going to be an ordained Presbyterian minister. I kind of hoped to stay in New York, because my sister Vanessa, who lives upstate near Auburn, teaches high school College Prep English, and my youngest sister Claire, who lives in Buffalo, is a paralegal. My other siblings are all over the place. My oldest sister Mallory teaches high school English Lit. in Cleveland, and has twins named Justin and Andrea, who are now in second grade. My brothers, who are triplets, have their own garage in Hartford. Byron is married to Bebe Everett, and their twins, BJ and Bonnie, are two years old. Margo lives in Chicago, and this may come as a shock, but she's now an EMT, considering the fact that when we were kids, she was the Queen of Motion Sickness—carsick, airsick, everything. Didn't see that one coming!

On the way, I stopped at the vending machine for a cup of coffee. My siblings and I are all _major _coffee addicts, and we all drink it differently. Mallory and Margo like theirs black; my brothers all like theirs with cream and no sugar; Vanessa likes brand-name sugar in hers; and Claire and I like ours with both cream and sugar. The sweeter and creamier, the better. My brothers, Claire, and I all prefer different kinds of cream. Jordan and Claire like hazelnut, Adam likes half-and-half, and Byron and I like Irish crème. To this day, I still get a kick out of Grandma Pike's reaction when she found out that Dad let me try some when I was twelve. And these were her exact words, too: "Jonathon Patrick Pike, Jr.! What in heaven's name are you thinking, letting that son of yours drink coffee at his age?! Don't you know how badly that's going to stunt his growth?!"

You want to know what's really funny about all this? Not only did Grandma's prediction about my stunted growth not come to pass, but I'm taller than all my siblings _and _my parents. 6'3", to be exact! What are the odds, huh?

As soon as I got my coffee, I turned around and noticed Francine Santiago, one of my classmates, reaching into her purse for her money. She's so beautiful: a head shorter than me, jet-black hair with reddish-brown highlights, deep brown eyes, and a really dark tan. She's also a very sharp dresser. At first glance, it's very easy to mistake her for a model, but once you get to know her, you'll find out that she's very smart, sweet, and down-to-earth. Everyone at the seminary, both students and teachers, is just crazy about her.

"Hi, Francine," I said.

"Hi, Nick," she smiled, in her very noticeable Mexican accent. "Haven't seen you for a while. How have you been?"

"Oh, pretty good," I answered. "I'm just glad that exam's finally over with."

"Yeah, I know," Francine agreed as she got her coffee. Like Mal and Margo, she likes hers black. "Listen, if anyone asks where I am, tell them I'm spending the rest of the weekend in bed, or at least I'd like to."

"You got it," I laughed. If there's one thing I've always liked about Francine, it's her sense of humor. "Well, see you later."

_"Hasta luego," _she said as I made my way down the hall.

I opened the door to my room, kicked off my shoes, and put them beside the door. After the busy day I'd had—morning and evening chapel, two morning exams and one in the afternoon—it was time to go online, check my e-mail, and maybe chat with some friends.

When I sat down on the futon and turned on my laptop and WebCam, I saw that James Hobart was online. We usually chat about once a month, mostly about how his internship is going. Every once in a while, though, we'll chat whenever something is bothering the other person. "Hi, James," I said when he appeared on the screen.

"Hi, mate," he grinned. "How's it going?"

"Oh, pretty good. I just came out of chapel. How about you?"

"I've been doing all right. Just got home from another day in the ER."

"Really? How's that been going?"

"Okay. Same old, same old. How's the seminary been treating you?"

"Well, other than the killer exams, I can't really complain."

"Yeah, I know," James agreed. "I felt the same way when I was in med school. Uh, listen, can we talk?"

When James asked me that, I could tell by the look on his face that he was really concerned about something. "Sure. What is it?"

"Well," James began, popping open a can of Foster's, "today, one of the cases we'd had was a man and a little girl who were in an accident when the man passed out at the wheel. Apparently, he'd had a history of diabetes, and he and the girl had eaten ice-cream cones."

"Boy, that was smart of him," I said sarcastically.

James nodded. "Anyway, I treated the little girl, and she told me that he'd kidnapped her from her home, taken her out into the woods, and had his way with her, if you will."

At that, I just put my hand to my heart. If there's one kind of person I've always hated with a passion, it's child predators. Even though the seminary always taught us that hate was a sin, for some reason, I've always felt that way. "Go on," I said, trying to hide how repulsed and enraged I was.

"Anyway, hearing that set off my colleague, Michael Stevens, and the next thing I knew, he went totally medieval on his ass."

Normally, I'm really offended when people use profanity. But since James really needed someone to talk to, I was willing to make an exception. "Why?" I asked.

"Well, I didn't know, either, until I asked Michael about it. He told me that when he was six, his mum's boyfriend took him on a long drive, then molested him in a hotel room. I told him that he needed to get some help, but I think he just brushed me off."

"Wow," I said. "This sounds pretty serious, James."

James sighed and shook his head. "I know. I don't even want to think about what'll happen when the dean's office and the review board get wind of this. He'll be lucky if he's able to finish his internship, if he doesn't get kicked out altogether."

"Does your supervisor know about this?"

"Yeah, I'll say," James groaned. "She told him not to let it happen again. In fact, tomorrow, the three of us are going to meet with the dean to find out what action needs to be taken next. I just hope the guy won't press charges."

I took the last sip of my coffee and dropped the cup into the wastebasket beside the end table. "Well, James, it sounds like your friend does need help, and the sooner, the better," I said. "Does the hospital you're working at have a psychiatrist?"

"Yeah. I really hope Michael decides to talk to someone in Psych about it. I don't want him to do something even stupider, or even land in jail over this."

I nodded. "I'm sure that's the last thing he needs. Well, I'll be praying for you."

"Thanks, mate," James said. "Well, I'm doing my first 24-hour shift tomorrow, and trying to catch a nap at work in between, so I'd better call it a night."

"Okay. Listen, if I'm ever in Chicago, maybe we could get together."

"Sure," James said. "Well, 'night."

"'Night."

As I logged off the computer and got ready for bed, I hoped James' friend would get the help he needed.

I didn't have class the next day, and I'd already completed my assignments for the week, so I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted. Since it was Saturday, I volunteered at the nursing home near the seminary. One of the residents, who everybody calls Sarge, is one of the nicest people I've met in a long time. He's a Korean War veteran, and always has a story to tell about his Army days, even though he sometimes forgets that he's not in the Army anymore. He also told me that he refuses to watch reruns of _M.A.S.H., _because it reminds him too much of those days. Sarge also told me that he'd enlisted on his eighteenth birthday, which was just a month after the war began, and was discharged on New Year's Eve, 1955. He spent a majority of the '70s and '80s as a sheriff's deputy in Queenstown, Connecticut, which is about a fifteen-minute drive from Stoneybrook, and Jessi Ramsey once told me that her Aunt Cecelia lived there before she moved in with her family. One of the employees at the home told me that Sarge has had PTSD for years, and he's also showing the early signs of Alzheimer's. That really saddened me to know that, because it reminded me of the time Dawn Schafer, one of my former baby-sitters, told me about her maternal grandfather having that. He passed away when Dawn was a senior in high school. But despite everything that's wrong with Sarge, he's always glad to see me. In fact, last Christmas, he gave me an old ship in a bottle, which I keep on my dresser.

After I finished my volunteer work, I left the nursing home, took the subway to the Majestic Theatre, then hailed a cab back to the seminary.

I'd just gotten out of the cab and was paying the driver when I saw Francine coming out of the laundromat next door. "Hi, Francine," I said.

"Hi," she answered.

"Need some help?" I asked as I shut the cab door and it drove away. I could tell she really had her hands full.

"Oh, _sí, muchas gracias," _she smiled gratefully. "I don't know about you, but I'm really beginning to hate wash day."

"Yeah, so did my folks," I laughed as I took one of the baskets of clean clothes from her. "With eight of us kids, every day was wash day for them."

"And I can only imagine what it's like for the Duggars," Francine added, referring to the family on TLC's _19 Kids and Counting. _I nodded. "I'm just glad it was my sister and me. Well, that is, until I was five and she was almost two, when we entered foster care."

"I thought you told me you were spending the weekend in bed," I said, changing the subject.

"Don't I wish," she groaned. "I've heard of no rest for the weary, but this is ridiculous."

When we got back to the seminary, I followed Francine upstairs to her room. "Thanks again for your help," she smiled.

"Sure," I said. Then after setting the basket down and clearing my throat at least once or twice, I said, "Uh, listen, Francine, uh—I was wondering if...are you, uh..."

"Yes?"

_"AreyoubusynextSaturday?"_

"Say that again?"

_Way to be smooth, Casanova, _I thought in chagrin. Even now, I still get nervous when trying to talk to a girl, but not to the point where all I can say is "blah, blah, blah".

"Are you busy next Saturday?" I repeated, slower than before.

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Well, uh—I just wanted to tell you that I stopped by the Majestic Theatre on my way back from the nursing home this morning, and got two tickets to see next Saturday's matinee performance of _Phantom of the Opera," _I said, holding them up. "They're front-row mezzanine seats. And, uh—well, if you're not, you know, doing anything, I thinking maybe you'd like to..."

"Nick, are you asking me out on a date?" Francine asked. By the tone of her voice, she was either really flattered, or she was tired of listening to me trying to get the words out. Now that I think about it, maybe a little of both.

"Okay," I answered lamely. I must have sounded like the world's biggest loser.

"I'd love to," she said softly. And as soon as she said that, I thought my cheeks were going to pop like a couple of balloons. I was smiling so widely.

After opening the door to her room, and carrying the basket inside, she said, "Well, I'll see you at dinner tonight."

"Great," I grinned. She grinned back at me, and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

All the way back down the hall to my room, I felt like I was floating. This was the happiest I'd felt since Nancy Dawes and I had sung our duet when we were in the Stoneybrook Kids. It's a wonder I didn't trip and fall down the stairs, now that I think about it. Well, actually, I didn't trip until I got downstairs. Right over my own foot, too. But I was in such a good mood over Francine saying she'd go out with me, I couldn't have cared less.


	14. Chapter 13:  Becca

**CHAPTER 13: Becca**

I was sitting at the front of the bus one afternoon, and going over my lines for _The Color Purple, _which I'm currently rehearsing for at the Circle In The Square Theatre. I was lucky enough to get the same part Whoopi Goldberg did in the movie. You know what? I'm still amazed that I was able to do this, considering the fact that I had such horrible stage fright when I was a kid, which I think was cured when my sister Jessi and her friends organized a production of _Snow White, _with my best friend Charlotte as the title character, and me as a dwarf. If memory serves me correctly, I think I was Sneezy.

Anyway, Charlotte told me that she was afraid of forgetting her lines, so Stacey McGill, one of Jessi's friends and Charlotte's "almost-sister", invented these cricket noises to help her remember.

"Are you an actress?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked up from my script, and saw a middle-aged man in a gray suit, black trench coat, and black fedora hat. He was a little heavyset, and had a gray bushy beard and gold-rimmed glasses.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"An actress," he repeated in a really thick Yiddish accent. "I noticed you were reading _The Color Purple, _so I assumed you were."

"Actually, yes," I answered. "And it's a lot of fun, too."

"I was something of a thespian when I was young," he said, adjusting his tie. "In fact, I was a chorus member in the original Broadway production of _Fiddler on the Roof. _You know, with Zero Mostel?"

"Yeah, my parents have the soundtrack," I said.

"Great show that was," he went on. "I would've continued, too, but back in '68, I shattered my right knee in an accident over on 85th. I can still walk, mind you, but the doctor told me I couldn't dance anymore, so I went back to college and got a job teaching high school drama after graduation."

"Well, I'm glad you were able to put your acting knowledge to good use," I commented as the bus stopped. "Well, this is my stop. Nice talking to you."

"You, too," the man answered. "And good luck with your show."

"Thanks," I smiled, and got off the bus. He seemed like such a nice guy.

After rehearsal, I went to one of the vending machines outside the stage door, where I was soon joined by Morgan Walter, one of my castmates, and the sister of Jessi's former boyfriend Quint. She's a couple of years younger than me, but we're still good friends. "Hi, Becca," she said. "What's new with you?"

"Not much," I answered as I reached into my wallet and dug a couple of quarters out of my change purse. "I'm just looking forward to opening night. You?"

"Oh, yeah," she agreed. "Say, what are you getting?"

"Brisk. Why, did you want a drink?"

"Yeah. I'll have a Coke Zero," Morgan answered, handing me a dollar. "Oh, by the way, I read somewhere that there's no scientific proof that Coke eats right through your stomach."

"Thanks for the tip," I smiled as I put our money in the machine. "I just wish iced tea didn't stain your teeth. I'm addicted to the stuff, and I've been hearing people say that for years. It's a good thing I only buy whitening toothpaste."

"I've also heard some of my white friends say that people who have seen them drink coffee have scared them with stories about turning their skin dark," Morgan added.

"No comment," I said.

After we got our drinks, Morgan cleared her throat and said, "Um, actually, Becca, I do have something to tell you, and this seems like the right moment."

"What is it?"

"Do you remember my brother, Quint?" she asked. I nodded as we sat down on a nearby bench. "Well, anyway, he and his wife are having problems, and have recently separated."

"Oh, no, that sucks" I said. "What happened?"

"Well, you've heard the saying 'opposites attract', right? Well, with Quint and Diana, it does anything but that, for some reason. That, and also because she's a virtual workaholic."

"Yeah, with her job on Wall Street, I'm not surprised," I agreed. "Do they have any kids?"

She shook her head.

"Well, when you see him, tell him I'm sorry for that," I said as we stood up.

"Thanks, Becca," Morgan said. "See you tomorrow night."

As I went around the corner to wait for the bus, I felt bad about the whole situation, and I knew Quint would like someone to lean on. I know I would, if I were him.

The next morning, I got up early and went to Tim Horton's for my coffee and cheese Danish. On my way out, I decided to pay Jessi a visit to let her know what was going on. After all, she and Quint had been an item way back when, and I felt she should know what was going on.

You know what? Right now would be a good time to tell you about Jessi. You already know that she's my older sister, so I'll tell you about her and Manette. They first met when the Stoneybrook Kids went to the international competition in Washington, DC, when I was eleven, which was my only competition with them. Anyway, Manette was living in Oakland at the time, but they exchanged e-mail addresses and stayed in touch over the years. As luck would have it, they were both accepted into Julliard, which is the most prominent performing arts school there is. They got married during my sophomore year of college, and their daughter Mary Rose was born shortly before graduation. My niece is a lot of fun to be with, and she's always happy to see me whenever I go over to their place.

The cab dropped me off at Jessi's building a few minutes later. I paid the driver, then went up the steps and pressed the button beside the name "Hughes".

"Who is it?" Jessi's voice called over the intercom.

"It's me," I answered.

"Come on up." With that, I got on the elevator to go to Jessi's sixth-floor apartment. I knew she'd be surprised to see me.

When I arrived at Jessi's door, she was waiting for me. "Come on in," she said.

"Hi, Aunt Becca!" Mary Rose exclaimed, her little arms outstretched. I picked her up and gave her a hug.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Great!" Mary Rose grinned. "Mommy's going to have a baby!"

"You _are?" _I gasped Jessi nodded proudly, and showed me her round stomach. From the size of it, she was _just starting _to show.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as I set Mary Rose down.

"Well, pretty good, actually," she answered. "I'm glad I'm past the morning sickness and all that other crap, but I'm not exactly looking forward to wild cravings and swollen ankles again. This time, instead of Reese's cup ice-cream, I'm craving pastrami-and-olive sandwiches."

I couldn't help cringing at that. I'm a vegan, and if there's one food I never really liked, it's olives. Just thinking about a combination like that was more than enough to take away my appetite. Jessi, on the other hand, loves olives, and she practically lived off of them when we were kids.

"Well, it could be worse. At least I'm not living off baked beans, which is my least favorite food in the world."

I nodded. "Anyway, can we talk alone?" I asked.

"Sure," Jessi answered, and led Mary Rose down the hall to the playroom. I also heard her get out Mary Rose's coloring book and crayons, and saying, "Now you stay here and color some pretty pictures. Aunt Becca and I have to talk, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," Mary Rose agreed.

As I looked around Jessi's living room, I thought, _I know exactly what Granddad Ramsey would be saying if he were alive today: "Women and their secrets! Women! Pfft!"_

When Jessi came into the living room, the two of us sat on the futon. "What is it?" she asked.

"Well, I was talking to Morgan Walter last night after rehearsal, and she told me that Quint and his wife are having problems, and have recently separated," I said.

"Oh, no," Jessi said. "Poor guy. I always thought that he and his wife were happy together."

"Yeah, so did I. And no, I didn't ask her to go into detail."

"Good idea," Jessi commented. "He must be feeling terrible."

"I'll say. Anyway, I felt I should let you know, since you once dated him."

Jessi nodded. "Thanks for letting me know," she said.

"No problem," I said. "If I see him, I'll tell him you and Manette said hi. Oh, and before I forget, _The Color Purple _opens next month."

She nodded. "It's marked on the calendar in the kitchen."

"When I get some comp tickets, I'll make sure you and Manette get some."

"Okay. I'll plan to have Aunt Cecelia come that weekend and baby-sit Mary Rose while we're at the show."

"Okay. Maybe Aunt Cecelia can see the show while she's here," I suggested.

"Maybe. Oh, that reminds me. Manette's taking me to the doctor tomorrow. If you're not too busy, could you watch Mary Rose?"

"Sure," I said. "I don't have rehearsal until 6:30."

"Great. We'll drop her off at your place around 10 tomorrow morning, since my appointment's at 10:30, then we'll pick her up around lunch time."

I nodded. "Well, I should be going now," I said as I stood up. "I'll see you guys later."

"'Bye, Becca," Jessi said warmly as we hugged.

Before I left the apartment, I went back to Mary Rose's room. "Bye-bye, Pumpkin," I said as I knelt down to her level and gave her a hug.

"'Bye, Aunt Becca," she said, handing me a picture of a bear holding a balloon that she'd scribbled over in every color crayon she had. She's still in the process of learning to stay in the lines, in case you're wondering.

"That's so beautiful," I said. Mary Rose smiled. "Let me put your name on here, so I'll know who it's from." I picked up a green crayon, wrote Mary Rose's name on it, and put the picture in my purse.

"See you later," Mary Rose said. With that, I walked out of the apartment.

Before I left the building, I looked in the hallway mirror and ran a brush through my hair. In case you're wondering, I've changed a lot since I was eight. Back then, I didn't look like any celebrity in particular, but now that I'm twenty-five, I think I look a little like Brandy.

Without her trademark braids, that is.

On my way back to the apartment, I thought about Aunt Cecelia. One time, I'd been stranded on an island off the coast of Connecticut with Jessi's friends, Claudia Kishi and Dawn Schafer, as well as Dawn's younger brother, Jeff, Jamie Newton, and Haley Braddock. We were there for two days before anyone found us, and had even dubbed the place "Nine O'Clock Island", because it seemed that our watches were stuck at 9:00 the whole time we were there. Mama and Daddy had gone away for the weekend, leaving Jessi in charge of JJ. Jessi told me that she was so worried that in desperation, she called Aunt Cecelia, who basically came in, took charge, and acted like Jessi didn't exist, not to mention blaming her for everything. Shortly after that, Mama announced that she'd gotten a job, and Aunt Cecelia would be moving in to keep an eye on things and take care of JJ. Thankfully, after JJ finished first grade, we made some changes in the arrangement. Jessi and I took turns taking care of JJ one afternoon a week after school, and Mama had the other BSC members watching him the other three afternoons until Jessi or I got home. That only lasted until I went to college, though, which was when JJ started middle school.

Anyway, Jessi and I pulled every prank we could think of on Aunt Cecelia, and in return, she treated us like we were irresponsible children, and basically started running our lives, thus forcing us to call her "Aunt Dictator" behind her back. In fact, she once forbade Jessi to go to a BSC meeting, because she was ten minutes late getting home, and didn't get a chance to call. I'm happy to say that Aunt Cecelia has loosened up quite a bit since then, but that's one episode that Jessi still hasn't quite forgiven her for to this day. In fact, Aunt Cecelia now lives in the senior apartments across the road from Stoneybrook Manor, and she loves it there, because she has people her own age to talk to.

_If I ever treat Mary Rose like that, Jessi and Manette have my permission to murder me in my sleep, _I thought.

Well, I haven't treated her like that so far, so I think we're okay.


	15. Chapter 14:  Marilyn

**CHAPTER 14: Marilyn**

After Z and I finished loading the buses, we went back inside to check our boxes before leaving for the day. "I'll be with you in a sec, Marilyn," Z told me. "I have to take a piss."

"Sure, no problem," I called over my shoulder as I went into the office.

When I stepped into the office, I made my way to the filing cabinet at the far end of the room, and after a quick search, found Sandy's file. After what she'd told me, I needed to call her father and bring him up to speed on things. As I opened the cabinet, I saw Linda Mays, my supervisor, passing by. She's about twenty years my senior, a head between me and Z, and has short curly brown hair. Before she came to work at the day center, she was a cop with the Newark PD, so she can be a little on the bossy side with the clients. The rest of the time, she's one of the sweetest, most nurturing women I've ever worked with. If you crossed Ripley from the _Alien _movies with Florence Nightingale, you'd have Linda.

"Hi, Marilyn," she said in her gruff, but soft-spoken New Jersey accent.

"Hi," I answered. "Oh, I just thought you should know, Sandy Carroll told me that she's having problems with her roommates, so Z and I are going over there to confront them as soon as we leave here. I'm going to ask her father to meet us there."

"Yeah, I thought something stunk over there."

"You did?"

"What, you don't think I hear things?" Linda asked as she grabbed her purse and jacket.

"Point taken."

"Oh, and good idea bringing Z along. You guys be careful, okay?"

"We will," I promised. Nodding,Linda pulled on her jacket and left just as Z was coming out of the bathroom. "Boy, that's the last time I order a large iced tea for lunch," he said. "I tell you, it goes through you like _that."_

"Mm-hm," I said, looking through Sandy's file.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm calling Sandy's father," I said. "Ah, here it is." I picked up the phone and started dialing, then added, "I'm having him meet us at Sandy's."

"Good idea," Z said. "Like I said yesterday, I don't want you putting yourself in a dangerous position."

I nodded, then listened to the other end of the phone ring while I waited for an answer.

"Hello?" a man's voice said on the third ring.

"Hi, Reverend Carroll?" I asked.

"Speaking."

"Hi, Reverend, this is Marilyn Arnold. I'm Sandy's music teacher at the Jeremy Brewer Day Center."

"Yes, Sandy's told me a lot about you," he said warmly. "How are you?"

"Oh, pretty good. Listen, I really need to discuss something with you."

"Sure. What is it?"

"Well," I began, clearing my throat, "Sandy told me that she's been having problems at her home, and some pretty disturbing stuff that happened there the other night."

I heard a sigh on the other end of the line. "You know, I had a feeling that she was upset about something the last time we talked," he said.

"Yeah. Anyway, we're going over there to confront her roommates."

"You're not going alone, are you?"

"Oh, no," I quickly reassured him. "The center's fitness instructor is coming with me. Don't worry, he's a big guy. Anyway, I sure hate to put you to such trouble, but do you think you could meet us at her place?"

"Sure, I'm on my way."

"Thanks," I said. "'Bye." Then I called Carolyn on her cell phone to let her know where I'd be, and what I'd be doing, and I wouldn't need a ride, because I'd have either Z or Rev. Carroll drop me off when we were done with business.

"That's fine," she said. "See you later."

"Thanks, I knew you'd understand," I said.

"Let's go," Z said after I got off the phone. After we put on our jackets, called good night to Kendra, and left the building, we got in Z's green Ford pick-up. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I knew there was no going back now.

We arrived at the apartment complex a few minutes later. It was a nice two-story building with four apartments on each floor. I headed up the left side of the steps with Z on my heels. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"I have to," I insisted. "Sandy needs our help."

"Okay," Z shrugged as I opened the screen door to Sandy's apartment, which was the first one at the top of the stairs, and knocked on the door.

"Sandy?" I called as I knocked. "Sandy, it's Marilyn. I'm here with Z."

The door was opened by a tall, thin, balding man with dark blond hair, green eyes, glasses, and a dark brown beard with a gray patch. He was wearing a purple long-sleeved dress shirt, brown khakis, and brown leather oxfords. "Hi there," he said. "I'm Reverend Tim Carroll, Sandy's father. We spoke on the phone."

"Hello, sir," I said, shaking his hand. "I'm Marilyn Arnold, and this is Frank Zoeller."

"My friends call me Z," he said as the two men shook hands.

"I'm glad you're here," Rev. Carroll said. "Let's go inside so we can talk."

The three of us walked into the apartment and headed for the living room. The first thing I saw was a tan couch with a blue wool throw quilt that had the _King of the Hill _logo on it, spread across the back. There was also a brown leather recliner on the left, and a blue armchair on the right. Z and I sat on the couch, and Rev. Carroll sat in the armchair. "Is Sandy here, by any chance?" I asked.

"She's in the shower," her father answered. "Look, I'll get right to the point. Sandy told me everything that happened here the other night. All I can say is, I'm glad I'm a religious man, or I'd beat the daylights out of them myself."

I nodded in agreement. "Are they around?" I asked.

"Sandy told me they were going to meet some of their friends at the bowling alley, and then they were going to run to the store for a few things, but they should be back soon."

"Okay," Z said.

"What do you make of all this with those two?" I asked.

"Well, I really don't know what to think," Rev. Carroll said. As angry as he was, he still managed to keep his cool. "In fact, as soon as Sandy gets out of the shower, the two of us are going to the police station to report them for invading her privacy."

"Good idea," I said.

"And if those guys give us any trouble, all I have to do is remind them that Sandy and I have every reason to report them."

"Do you know what you're going to do after that?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Rev. Carroll said. "Sandy called me on her cell phone on her way home, like she usually does. After she called me today, I went to the courthouse to get the paperwork to file for guardianship."

I nodded. "Good idea. We can't have those two controlling her forever."

"In fact, I'd just gotten home when you called, Marilyn. And when all is said and done with the guardianship, I'm thinking of the possibility of taking Sandy and moving back to Missouri."

"Really?" I asked. I didn't think any of us saw that one coming. I know I sure didn't.

He nodded. "I just got off the phone with my sister in Pittsburgh when you came, and she's agreed to come with us. You see, my father died about a couple of years ago, and my mother still lives there. She had a stroke about a year and a half ago, and it's affected her to the point where she can't walk or use her right side. Luckily for her, she's left-handed." I nodded, remembering when Claudia Kishi told me about her grandmother's stroke several months before she died.

"Unfortunately, Mom is getting to the point where she can't be alone, and the help we've had for her since her stroke has been getting expensive, so we've arranged for her to move into an assisted-living facility in Farmington, where Sandy's favorite Dairy Queen used to be." A hint of a smile crossed his face as he continued, "The one thing she's always loved about that place is the train that ran around the ceiling, and had a little monkey hanging off the caboose. In fact, the last time we were there, we learned they'd just taken it out."

"Boy, Sandy must have really hated that, huh?"

He nodded. Just then, the door opened, and two guys came in. One was tall and had blondish-brown shoulder-length hair and glasses, and was wearing a blue-and-white striped shirt and jeans. The other was a couple of inches shorter, kind of heavyset, had dark red curly hair, and was wearing a gray long-sleeved T-shirt and khakis. Obviously, they weren't expecting company, because when they saw who was in the living room, they stopped short. "Hi, Reverend," the shorter guy said, as politely and innocently as he could manage. The other guy, however, had a really dark look on his face. And after what happened, he really had a lot of nerve to look upset.

"Hi, guys," Rev. Carroll answered. "Oh, these are two of Sandy's teachers from the day center, Frank and Marilyn. Frank and Marilyn, this is Brian (the taller guy) and Troy."

"Hi," Z said. "You can call me Z." No way was he going to shake their hands. I sure wouldn't have wanted to, either.

"So, what's up?" Brian asked. We could tell he was in no mood to be polite.

I took a deep breath. "We have a problem here," I began as I stood up. "Actually, _you_ have a problem here. Sandy told me about what happened here the other night. She said that the two of you read her diary, then got on her case about what she'd written."

"I assume there's a point to all this?" Brian asked. And believe me, I'll never forget that arrogant, defiant tone in his voice. He was fully aware that we knew, and he couldn't have cared less.

"Yes, Brian, there is a point," I told him. "My point is, not only are you using Sandy as your own personal doormat, but you also invaded her privacy, and had the audacity to jump down her throat about it. And to top it all off, the two of you almost got into a fight, and scared her half to death."

In retrospect, I should've known that Brian would try to turn this all around on someone besides himself. "Well, I'm sorry she feels that way," he said. "But it's all over now, okay?"

"No, Brian, it is not okay," I said, my voice gradually rising. "And do you know why it is not okay? Because invading someone's privacy, the privacy of someone who trusted you and considered you a friend, is something that I, for one, have a huge problem with, especially when that someone has a disability—which, as you know, Sandy does. That is why it is not okay. And besides, it is never okay to go through someone's private stuff. How would you like it if I did that to you?"

"I wouldn't," Troy agreed.

"That's what I thought."

That's when the arrogant smirk disappeared from Brian's face. "You weren't there the other night," he shot back. "I don't know about Troy, but as for me, I've been having trouble dealing with that girl. And I'll have you know that she gave me a lot of lip when I tried talking to her."

"Gee, I wonder why," Z muttered sarcastically.

That was it. _That was just IT! _I marched over to Brian. "THAT IS NOT A VALID EXCUSE, BRIAN!" I exploded, shoving a finger in his face. I may be only five feet tall, but I'm not scared of anybody. "You had no business doing that, and I don't just mean reading her diary!"

"So what?" he sneered. "She should be grateful that she has us. Otherwise she'd be in a group home right now. If you ask me, we're doing her a huge favor."

"Oh, yeah?" I challenged, narrowing my eyes and clenching my teeth. "Is that why the two of you almost got into a fight? Is that why you treat her like you do?"

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to slug this guy. I mean, here he was, trying to weasel his way out of something he caused. "You know what, sweetheart?" he said with contempt in his eyes. "You can act all tough and save the day all you want, but the fact is, you can't prove any of what Sandy told you."

"Maybe not," I retorted. "But I _can _file a police report, and you'd better believe that there _will _be an investigation."

With that, Brian laughed, a cocky, scornful laugh that scraped my nerves like sandpaper. "Whatever," he said. "Just remember, it's my word against hers, so good luck." And with that, he picked up the bag of groceries, and started toward the kitchen.

"Just a minute, Brian," I said. "If I were Sandy, I'd take living in a group home over living with a pompous asshole like you any day of the week." (I knew I'd cursed in front of a minister, but I was too fired up to think about that now.)

Brian gave me a dirty look, then went into the kitchen, where I heard him slamming the cupboard doors and muttering to himself.

For a minute, nobody said a word, then the bathroom door opened, and Sandy came out. Her hair was wet, and she was barefoot and wearing an _American Dad _bathrobe. "Hi, you guys," she said softly. "Hi, Daddy."

"Are you all right, baby?" Rev. Carroll asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Uh, can I say something, please?" Troy asked. He'd barely said two words the entire time. "I just wanted to tell you that Sandy wasn't lying about Brian trying to hit me. In fact, reading Sandy's diary was all his idea. I didn't want any part of it, and I told him that, but he didn't listen. I'm sorry, Reverend. I'm sorry, Sandy."

Rev. Carroll cleared his throat and looked Troy dead in the eye. I thought for sure that he was going to chew him out for not standing up for Sandy, but instead, his reaction took all of us by surprise.

"I understand where you're coming from, Troy," he said evenly. "But you were still wrong for not standing up for my daughter. However, we do accept your apology; and personally, from what I just saw, I think you're a much better person than Brian is."

"Thanks," Troy mumbled, managing a tiny smile, but he still felt horrible.

"All right, Sandy, I need you to get dressed," her father said. "You also have ten minutes to pack whatever will fit in your suitcase, and I'll wait for you."

Sandy nodded, and went off to pack. About fifteen minutes later, Sandy emerged from her room, wearing a light blue ruffled jeans skirt, a blue button-down shirt over a white halter top, socks, and tennis shoes. She carried a duffel bag over her right shoulder, and three dresses on hangers in her left hand.

Just then, Brian came out of the kitchen. "Sandy, wait," he said. He started to touch her arm, but when he saw her father, he changed his mind.

"What?" Sandy said sharply as she turned around.

"Why are you doing this?" Brian demanded. "After all I've done for you, you're just going to run home to Daddy when things get rough?"

_That fucking asshole, _I thought. I could feel my blood boiling. Personally, if I were Sandy, I would've hauled off and knocked him into the next county, like he deserved.

But instead, Sandy very calmly put down her suitcase, handed her dresses to her father, and grabbed her pink denim jacket off the hall tree, staring daggers at him the whole time. "You know what, Brian?" she said as she put her jacket on and grabbed her purse. "You brought this all on yourself. You knew what you did was wrong, but you did it anyway. How could you treat me like that? I liked and trusted you. I think what you did was very cruel."

"Like I told your teacher, I'm sorry you feel that way."

"That's it?" Sandy asked in disbelief. "That's all you have to say for yourself? Well, let me tell you something, Brian Harrington. I'm sorry you're upset. I'm sorry you feel like you're being treated unfairly. I'm sorry I can't fix all your problems. But you know what I'm sorry about more than anything else? I'm sorry we can't be friends anymore."

As soon as those words came out of Sandy's mouth, all that smug, cocky arrogance left Brian's face, and he just stood there in disbelief. And you know something? Whoever invented the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words" would've killed to see this.

"And there's just one more thing I'd like to say," Sandy continued, grabbing her white parka and umbrella from the closet. "I didn't hate living with you until now. As of right now, I want you out of my life." Then walking to the door and opening it, she spat, "Good-bye, Brian."

After looking at Sandy in stunned silence, Brian grabbed his jacket and stormed out in disgust, slamming the door behind him.

A few minutes later, we were outside beside our vehicles. "Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow," Sandy said as she hugged me and Z. Her father put her suitcase in the backseat, laid her parka and umbrella beside it, and hung her dresses on the hook.

"You, too," I said.

"Have you eaten yet?" Rev. Carroll asked his daughter. Sandy shook her head. "Okay, we'll stop at Burger King on the way to my place." Then, turning to us, he shook our hands. "Thanks for everything, both of you."

"No problem," I answered. And with that, Sandy and her father got into their white Toyota and drove away. As I watched them leave, I was glad we'd gotten her out of that situation.

The next day, I saw Sandy before third block. "Hey," I said.

"Hi, Marilyn," she answered. "Oh, Daddy told me everything about while we were sitting at Burger King. You know, about him filing for guardianship and stuff."

I nodded. "You understand why, right?"

"Yeah," she answered. "You know what? I slept so well last night that I don't remember having any dreams. That's the best sleep I've gotten in three months."

"Good," I said. Then I saw the look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy says we're moving back to Missouri next month, or sometime after the guardianship hearing."

"I know," I said. "He told me last night. Whereabouts in Missouri?"

"It's in this little town called Ste. Genevieve," she answered. "My grandparents used to live there until Grandpa died and Grandma moved into the assisted-living place, in a little gated community around a lake. We're moving into their old house, and Daddy's going to see about enrolling me in the workshop there."

"That's good," Z said.

"That's nice you'll be in your grandparents' house," I said. "That'll be familiar territory for you."

Sandy nodded. "Daddy's also going to help me find an apartment in either Bonne Terre, Park Hills, or the surrounding area. But this time, after what happened with Brian and Troy, he's going to require a background check on all potential roommates."

"Good idea," I said. "You don't want to be in the same situation again."

"Oh, I don't know if Daddy told you, but Mom died of cancer when I was nineteen, and we moved to Stamford soon after Grandma's stroke."

"Oh, he didn't mention that," I said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks. Mom's name was Rhoda, but Daddy never remarried, though."

"Oh."

"Speaking of the apartment, you should've seen it when we first got it. It had a garbage disposal, dishwasher, wireless Internet, you name it."

"Sounds exciting," I said. "I wish Z and I had gotten the grand tour."

Sandy smiled. "Anyway," I continued, "it was very wrong for those two to read your diary, but don't worry about a thing, because they'll get theirs someday."

"Daddy and I went to the apartment early this morning before he dropped me off here," Sandy said, changing the subject. "We had to get the last of my stuff."

"So, what happened to the guys?" I asked.

"I don't know. I didn't hear anything about that. They weren't there, and Brian's clothes were gone, so I assumed he'd left during the night, but Troy would've left for work a few minutes before we got there."

"They didn't get off scot-free, did they?" Z asked.

"Oh, no," I answered. "At least Brian didn't. Your father called me last night, Sandy, and told me that Brian will be spending the next six weekends picking up trash on the courthouse lawn. He said he hear that Brian left last night and moved into the Y. Troy still lives there, though, and his cousin will be moving in with him. And since he technically didn't do anything wrong, the cops aren't going to charge him with anything. But this will still haunt him for the rest of his life."

Sand and Z nodded in agreement. "You know, I'm glad I'm not living with them anymore, but I'll still miss Troy," Sandy said. "He was actually nice to me."

"I'm glad," Z said. "And I hope your dad will still let you be friends with him."

"Me, too, Z."

"Well, I'm glad things are working out for you now," I said.

I was really going to miss Sandy when she left, but I knew it was all for the best.


	16. Chapter 15:  Carolyn

**CHAPTER 15: Carolyn**

_"Just a-no-ther ma-nic Mo-o-on-day-y;...wish-it-were Sun-day-y...That's-my-fu-un day-y-y,...my I-don't-have-to-run day-y-y. It's just a-no-ther ma-nic Mo-o-on-day..."_

That's what I was lip-synching to in the shower that morning. (I told you my voice sounds like shit.) And it was actually Thursday. On the one hand, I was glad, because it meant that the week was almost over. At the same time, however, it meant that today, Jeff would tell me whether or not he'd been promoted to seventh grade. I really hated to see him go, but ultimately, it was the principal's decision.

_God, if only he knew how I was feeling right now, _I thought as I turned off the water and got out of the shower stall to dry off. _I wonder if if he was ever a teacher who had a student that he adored, only to find out that he or she was going on to the next grade?_

As you can tell, I was not looking forward to what the day would bring.

Much to my surprise, the morning was a breeze, except for second period. That was when the piece of chalk I was holding snapped in half while I was writing on the blackboard. It was so loud that I actually jumped back and knocked the stapler off my desk and into the wastebasket.

"Hey, what's wrong? That piece of chalk finally buckle under the pressure?" one of the boys snickered.

"At least it won't have to deal with the test you're taking next Wednesday," I said as I retrieved the stapler. I guess I got my point across, because the kid immediately stopped goofing off and paid attention.

Before I knew it, it was time for fourth period. "Hi, Ms. Arnold," Jeff said when he entered the room.

"Hi, Jeff," I answered.

"Can I talk to you after class? I have something to tell you."

"Sure."

I knew right away what he wanted to talk to me about. I guess the other kids did, too, because for once, they were on their best behavior. In fact, Brad—you know, the kid who fired that snot-rocket at him that one day—even took the time to apologize to him.

After class, Jeff approached my desk. "What is it?" I asked.

"Well, my parents and I had a meeting with the principal last night," he began.

_Here it comes, _I thought in dread. I hadn't felt this way since the time Marilyn and I switched places when Claudia baby-sat for us. And boy, when our parents found out, they were_ pissed_, as were Claudia and Mrs. Cohen, Marilyn's piano teacher. And being the Einsteins that we were, neither of us thought ahead of time that anyone would figure out what we'd done.

Okay, back to my conversation with Jeff. "There's a new school they just built downtown a couple of years ago," he told me. "It's for kids who have genius IQ's, like me. I'll be starting there on Monday."

That's when it finally sank in: Jeff wasn't being promoted. He was going to a whole 'nother new school. Don't get me wrong, I was glad he had the opportunity to go to a school that would be able to cater to his needs, but it didn't mean that I wasn't going to miss him terribly.

"I'm really going to miss you, Ms. Arnold," he said. "You're my favorite teacher."

I smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a magnet that was shaped like a little chalkboard with "WORLD'S GREATEST TEACHER" written on it, and on the left side was a little bear wearing a cap and gown.

I felt tears coming to my eyes and brushed them away. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever given me. "Thank you so much," I choked.

"You're welcome," he said, giving me a hug. I'm a head taller than him, so it wasn't too awkward for him to rest his head neatly on my shoulder.

After a minute or so, I said, "You know, I was thinking maybe you'd like to have lunch with me so we can talk some more." A rule that went into effect at SMS when I was in sixth grade was that if a student needed extra help from a teacher, other than the Resource Room, or if they needed to talk, they'd eat their lunch in that particular teacher's classroom.

"Sure," he said as the two of us headed to the cafeteria.

I'd really miss Jeff when he went to his new school, but I knew I'd see him around town, so it wouldn't be a total loss.

Before I knew it, it was Friday, which was also Jeff's last day at SMS. Normally, Friday is my favorite day of the week, but this was one Friday I could've done without.

"Hi, Ms. Arnold," Jeff said when he entered the classroom and took his usual seat.

_Boy, I'll miss that, _I thought.

"Hi, Jeff," I answered. "Looking forward to your new school?"

"You bet," he grinned. "It's going to be so much fun to go to a school where the other kids don't treat you like garbage and fire snot-rockets at you just because you're smart."

"Yeah, that was pretty gross," I commented.

"Remember what Roxanne did when Brad did that to me?" he asked. "I thought for sure that she was going to turn his face into something that remotely resembled a wet prune."

Although I don't allow fighting in my class, even I had to laugh at that.

After school ended for the day, Jeff returned to my classroom. "Oh, I've got something for you," he said, handing me a Granny Smith apple.

"Where did you get this?" I asked.

"I got it at lunch," he said. "I've kept it in my bag all afternoon. Don't worry, I washed it in the bathroom before I came here."

"Wow, thanks," I said. "I'll save this for the trip home."

"Well—I'll see you later," Jeff said, giving me one last hug before leaving the room.

"See you, buddy," I whispered as I watched him walk down to the end of the hall to meet his parents. After they left, I gathered my things and went outside to wait for Marilyn. As luck would have it, that's when it started raining, which really fit my mood. Fortunately, I had my umbrella with me, so I didn't have to wait very long. Some people say it's because Marilyn's punctual, and other say she drives too fast. Either way, I was glad to be out the rain.

"Hi, how was your day?" Marilyn asked as I fastened my seatbelt.

"Pretty good, for the most part," I answered, taking a bite of the apple. "I just found out that starting Monday, Jeff's going to that new school they just built."

"Oh, you mean the one for gifted kids?"

I nodded. "I'll really miss him, but at least I'll see him around town."

"That's good. And as I may have told you when I got home last night, Sandy and her dad are moving back to Missouri next month. I'll really miss her, too."

I thought about that for a minute as I took another bite of the apple. "Didn't you tell me she was the one who was living with those two assholes who mistreated her and read her diary?" I asked.

"Yup," Marilyn answered. "And just between the two of us, if her father hadn't been there, I would've given that one guy a mouthful of broken teeth. Either that, or had the fitness instructor break every bone in his body."

"Now, that I would've loved to see," I laughed. Even though it probably wasn't a good idea, I couldn't help it. "You know, I think the last time you clocked someone was when Mel Tucker tried to feel you up at the Final Fling when we were in seventh grade."

"Actually, he _did _feel me up," she reminded me. "And just between you and me, there wasn't that much to feel."

"Oh, so _that's _how you got the nickname Slugger," I recalled.

"Yeah, and I still can't hit a baseball to save my life," Marilyn said. This time, even she had to laugh.

We pulled into the driveway at our duplex, which is a two-story house. Several of our neighbors said that it was built around the same time as Dawn Schafer's old house. Unlike Dawn's old house, it wasn't a stop on the Underground Railroad, and it was actually the first hospital in Stoneybrook. Marilyn lives on the left side, and I live on the right. "Where did you want to have dinner?" I asked as we got out of the car. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours is fine. What were you in the mood for?"

"Chinese," I suggested. "And I just found out that _A.I. _ Is going to be on SyFy in about half an hour, so we'll have time to order the food and have it delivered before it comes on."

"Okay. Nothing helps saying goodbye to someone you love quite like Chinese food and Haley Joel Osment," Marilyn commented.

As we headed inside, I knew we'd both survive missing our friends.


	17. Chapter 16:  Nick

**CHAPTER 16: Nick**

It was early evening when Francine and I came out of the Majestic Theatre, where we'd attended the matinee performance of _Phantom of the Opera, _and we were singing the title song. I'd seen a few shows in New York in my time, but this was one of the most spectacular shows I'd seen in years. It even topped that concert at the Sydney Opera House when I was nine. Even though it was mid-October, the sky was gray, and it was already pretty chilly.

"Wasn't that great?" Francine asked as we finished singing. "I hadn't heard such wonderful singing since the Christmas program at church last year."

"Oh, yeah," I agreed, zipping up my jacket. "And you know something? I wish Jason and Kristy were here."

"One of your baby-sitters?" Francine guessed.

I nodded. "I still remember seeing him in his Phantom costume when he was a freshman in high school. I'd been in fourth grade at the time, and we happened to stop at his apartment on our trick-or-treating route. My baby sister didn't recognize him at first, and to this day, I can still remember her exact words to seeing him dressed like that: 'Mommy, what is that thing?'"

Well, naturally, Francine laughed herself silly at that story. "She actually called him a _'thing'?" _she shrieked. I nodded, because I knew that if I tried to say anything, I'd dissolve into a fit of laughter myself.

"Well, I don't know about you, Francine, but I'm starved," I said. "Let's go over to the deli in the next block."

_"Sí," _Francine agreed. "I could go for a turkey Reuben right now."

"Sounds good to me."

Just as we rounded the corner, we saw a small huddled figure sitting beside a parking meter, and was wearing a faded black T-shirt with a skull and crossbones on it, faded jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and white flip-flops—actually, if they weren't so filthy, they _would_ be white. "Stay behind me," I whispered to Francine. She nodded as she grabbed my elbow.

We went over to the person. Right away, I could tell it was a girl, because the first thing I saw was the dark blond hair, which looked like it hadn't been washed in six months. I touched her shoulder.

She looked up. I noticed that she looked like she was about twenty years old, but her face was so gaunt and full of blackheads that she could've easily passed for someone in her mid-to-late 40s. "Who the hell are you?" she asked in a raspy voice with a heavy Brooklyn accent. It was a combination of fear, anger, and suspicion. Then she reached into her back pocket. I could tell she was reading for a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, whoa, it's okay," I quickly reassured her. "We're not going to hurt you."

She blew a raspberry. "Bullshit!" she growled, her chapped and bloody lips curling into a sneer. "Now I got a box-cutter where I can get to it, so if you know what's good for you, you'll back the fuck up right now."

What happened next is something that even I wasn't expecting. Francine put her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. "Watch that language, _míja," _she said sternly. Personally, if I'd been Francine, I would've left the girl alone and gotten out of there, because she looked serious about using whatever weapon she had on us. To my surprise, she stopped whatever she was about to do, and obliged.

"Sorry," she said softly.

"Now, can we help you with anything?" I asked, trying to keep the situation calm.

"Well, you can give me the last two years of my life back," she laughed scornfully. "As if that's even possible."

"What do you mean?"

"I just aged out of the foster-care system a couple of years ago," she answered. "My parents were killed in a fire when I was six, and I'd been bounced around to twelve different foster homes in my life. You know, the one thing that never changes about the system is that they always stick the problem kids with the druggies, pedos, or slimeballs who like to abuse kids, if they don't put them in good homes. Anyway, when I turned eighteen, it was just my luck that I had no place to live, so I've been here on the streets."

I nodded, then glanced at Francine. From what she'd told me, she'd been through the system herself. She'd been abused and sworn at in her first home, but the other eight or nine homes she'd been in after that were good Christian homes, where she got the opportunity to go to church, and by the time she got to high school, like me, she decided to go into the ministry. In fact, the last home she was in before she aged out of the system, her foster parents had given her a Bible with her name on it. (Since Francine doesn't have a family to spend the holidays with, she helps the seminary host the dinner to help others in that situation.) She was also fortunate enough not to end up on the streets. "That's awful," she said sympathetically.

"Sure," the girl said sullenly. "Like I'd never heard that one before."

"Uh, look, we're on our way to the deli over there," I said, pointing. "Care to join us?"

The girl thought for a minute. "Sure, what the hell," she agreed. "Anything's better than going dumpster-diving."

A few minutes later, the three of us were sitting at a table outside the deli with a pastrami sandwich for Francine, and tuna sandwiches for me and the girl, as well as coffee. This girl really was hungry, because she gobbled up her sandwich in record time, and was taking pretty big sips of her coffee. I hadn't seen anyone eat that fast since Linny Papadakis, David Michael Thomas, and I had that ice-cream eating race at Shadow Lake when we were kids. Just thinking about that makes my head feel like it's about to explode.

"Did you try the homeless shelter up the street?" I asked. The girl shook her head as she took the last sip of coffee.

"Well, what's your name?" Francine asked.

"Erika."

"Well, Erika," I said. "I'm Nick, and this is Francine."

"Hi," Erika answered. "Oh, sorry for threatening you like that. The thing is, I don't really have a box-cutter. I just say that in case anyone tries to mess with me."

"Does it usually work?" Francine asked.

"Yeah, it worked with you'se guys, didn't it?" Erika chuckled. Not surprisingly, it didn't strike Francine as one bit funny.

"Anyway," I continued, "we'll take you to the homeless shelter, and leave our names and numbers as emergency contacts."

Erika nodded. We threw our trash away, and headed to the homeless shelter. To my surprise, the social worker, Mrs. Gleason, took her right away. "She's in good hands," she told us. "She just needs a decent meal, clean clothes, a hot shower, and a good night's sleep. Also, the doctor will be here on Monday, and the dentist will be here on Tuesday, so she'll get a good physical and dental exam."

"Thanks," I said gratefully.

"Why don't you folks go home now? I'll take care of her."

We nodded. Before we left, I wrote down our names and phone numbers and handed it to her. Here's where you can contact us in an emergency," I said.

"Thanks," she said.

With that, we walked out of the shelter and hailed a cab back to the seminary. "I really hope she'll be all right," I said as I opened the door and got in the cab.

Francine nodded in agreement.

Two weeks later, we were on our way from the dining hall to the chapel for the evening service when one of our teachers came hurrying out of the office with a concerned look on his face. "You have a call from a Mrs. Gleason," he informed me.

"Go ahead," I told Francine as I went into the office to pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Nick? Something's happened to Erika," Mrs. Gleason said. "I went to check on her and found her lying unconscious on the floor with two empty pill bottles beside her."

At that moment, I felt my stomach turn inside out. "Suicide attempt?" I guessed.

"Apparently so. I'll meet you and Francine at the hospital."

As soon as I got off the phone, I found Francine coming out of the bathroom. "Mrs. Gleason just called," I explained. "She said that Erika tried to commit suicide, and is on her way to the hospital."

"Let's go," she said. We stopped long enough for Francine to get her purse from her room, and were soon on our way.

I don't know how much time passed on the way to the hospital, but it sure felt like years. When we arrived, we found Mrs. Gleason pacing in the waiting room.

"Good, you're here," she said.

"What happened?" Francine asked as we sat down.

"When I went to Erika's room to check on her, I found a bottle of Doxepin, which is a sleeping pill, and a bottle of Phenobarbital lying on the floor beside her. I don't know how she got them, since we keep all our medicines locked in the main office," Mrs. Gleason explained. "I also don't know why she'd want to kill herself."

About half an hour later, the doctor came out. He was about my height, and had a huge mass of light brown curly hair and a soul patch. "Mrs. Gleason?" he said.

Mrs. Gleason stood up. "Yes?" she answered.

"I'm Dr. Bryant. Erika seems to be doing much better. We successfully pumped the pills out of her stomach. We also have her sedated, and she's resting comfortably. You can see her, but she won't know you're here."

Francine and I sighed with relief.

"Thank you, doctor. Oh, these are two seminary students who brought Erika into my care, Mr. Pike and Ms. Santiago. May they see her, too?"

"Of course," the doctor answered.

The doctor led us down the hall and around the corner to Erika's room. "Now, only one of you at a time can see her," he said. "Who wants to go first?"

"I will," I volunteered. "Francine, are you all right with that?"

Looking down and wiping away tears, Francine nodded.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was that she was hooked up to a lot of machines, just like my great-uncle Joe had been before he died. (I was a senior in high school at the time.) There was a respirator, an EKG, and an IV. I pulled myself together, then pulled up the chair and sat down.

"Hi, Erika," I said, fighting to control my voice. "Remember me? We met you a couple of weeks ago, and brought you to the homeless shelter. Look, uh—I know I don't know you very well, and I'm probably the last guy you wanna see right now, but I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you." There was no response, so I continued, "You have to hang in there for me, okay? I know you can. You've made it this far, so please, _please _don't give up on me."

Blinking back tears, I reached into the inside pocket of my brown leather jacket and pulled out the little green Bible that Grandma Bennett had given me when I graduated from high school. It was old and tattered, but otherwise in good shape. "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want..." I whispered. I quoted the first three verses of Psalm XXIII from memory before I had to consult my Bible. How I managed to get through that without falling apart is beyond me.

About five minutes later, I left the room just as Francine came in. Neither of us said a word. I mean, what was there to say? We knew we couldn't make Erika wake up just because we wanted her to. All we could do was be there for her and pray that she'd pull through.

And after we left the hospital, that's exactly what we did. All night long.

The next evening, Francine and I were coming from the chapel after the evening service, when we got another call from Mrs. Gleason. "Erika just woke up," she told me. "She's still a little out of it, but she's fully alert and showing no signs of permanent brain damage from the pills."

Let me tell you, I was just over the moon when Mrs. Gleason said that. This was the best news I'd heard in a long time. "That's wonderful," I said. "When can we see her?"

"First thing tomorrow morning."

"Well, I'm just glad she's made it. I'll be sure to tell Francine."

"Okay, I'll be sure to keep you posted." And we hung up.

"Thank you, Lord!" Francine shouted when I told her, and then started rattling off praises in Spanish. She was so happy and talking so fast that I couldn't understand a word she was saying but I didn't mind one bit. I was just glad that Erika was okay, even though she still had a long way to go. But with Francine, Mrs. Gleason, and me by her side, I felt good about her chances.

I guess the Lord really does answer prayers, doesn't He?


	18. Chapter 17:  Becca

**CHAPTER 17: Becca**

Before I knew it, it was the night of the final dress rehearsal. The plan was that Aunt Cecelia would arrive the next afternoon and baby-sit Mary Rose while Jessi and Manette were at the show, then she'd attend the Saturday matinee and return to Stoneybrook the next afternoon. Even though she lives in the senior apartments, one of the staff would make sure she got to and from the train station in Stoneybrook.

After the dress rehearsal was over and I changed my clothes, I came out of the dressing room and saw Quint standing beside the stage door. "Hey," I said as we walked out into the night.

"Hey," he answered. "All set for tomorrow night?"

I nodded. "I'm just glad we got through rehearsals without the director or anyone in the cast having the queen mother of all conniptions."

"Huh?"

"I guess Jessi didn't tell you about _Carnival, _huh?"

Quint thought for a minute. "Oh, wasn't that when she said that Stacey got really pissed off and threw her script down?" he asked.

"Yup. And then Jessi told me about the time she was hanging from the rope, and Linny Papadakis pushed her too hard, and she crashed into him," I said, stifling a laugh. "Jessi says Mr. Cheney was so upset that he actually threatened to cancel the play, then eventually apologized."

"That's a relief," Quint said. "Like the saying goes, the show must go on."

"Yup," I agreed. "But don't worry. She's long since forgiven Linny for his little slip-up."

"That's good," Quint smiled. When he does, he looks _soooo _sexy. "Listen, it's pretty late, and the streets aren't exactly friendly at this hour, so why don't Morgan and I give you a ride home?"

"Sure," I answered as I spotted Morgan coming toward us. Inside, my heart was going a million miles an hour. I mean, the sweetest, hottest guy in the world, and the brother of one of my castmates, had just offered me a ride home. If he was already single, I would've jumped on him in no time flat. I still don't know how I was able to get through the ride home without going crazy.

Later, as they dropped me off, I decided to go out with him as soon as his divorce was finalized.

"'Night, Becca," Morgan called as I got out of the car.

"See you guys tomorrow night," I said.

"You, too," Quint said. With that, I walked up the steps to the building and went inside.

That night, I dreamed about a fantasy life with Quint. In my dream, we were married, living in a nice apartment on the Sunset Strip in L.A., and had twin boys named Neil and Shawn, after Journey's lead guitarist, Neal Schon. Life was great, until Quint developed an addiction to Smirnoff Ice and Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers. That's when I woke up. _God, I can't believe I just dreamed that, _I thought. I've heard of people having the kid of dreams they never thought they'd have, but nothing like the one I just had. (Note to self: look up Dream Analysts in the yellow pages.)

The next morning, I met Aunt Cecelia at the train station. She still looked the same as always, except that she now had gray hair and uses a cane due to arthritis in her right knee. "Rebecca! How nice to see you!" she said as she hugged me.

"Hi, Aunt Cecelia," I said. "Where are you staying?"

"With Jessica and Manette," she answered.

"Okay," I answered as I hailed a cab. And no, I wasn't thinking about jumping out into the street, screaming "TAXIIIIII!"

When we arrived at Jessi's building, I paid the driver, then carried Aunt Cecelia's suitcase into the building and buzzed the doorbell to let Jessi know that we were there. "Come on up," she said. Aunt Cecelia and I got on the elevator, and I pressed the button for the sixth floor.

"Boy, I'm glad the elevator works. I don't think these old bones can handle all those stairs like they used to," Aunt Cecelia commented.

I nodded. "Don't worry, their neighbors are relatively sane, even though some of them aren't very nice."

"That's good to know."

"Although, there's this one apartment at the end of the third-floor hallway. No one ever goes in or out, and there's always empty cans of tuna and salmon outside the door. Some of the people on that floor have this theory that a big cat with a can opener lives there."

"Re-_becca," _Aunt Cecelia warned. If I ha a dollar for every time I've ever heard her use that tone of voice, I could buy a penthouse on 125th Street. One incident I recall was when I was three, and Aunt Cecelia was baby-sitting Jessi and me while our parents were at a Christmas party. I was supposed to be getting in the bathtub, but instead, I was running stark naked around the house like a maniac. I'd had the towel tied around my neck like Supergirl, and was about to jump off the edge of the couch, trying to fly, when I heard that tone of voice. That was all it took for me to know that when Aunt Cecelia tells you to do something, she means business.

Okay, back to the elevator. "Just kidding," I told her, laughing the whole time. Aunt Cecelia was laughing, too.

"Baby girl, you read _way _too much Neil Simon," she commented.

That's when the elevator arrived on Jessi's floor. She was waiting for us, and Mary Rose was clinging to her belt loop.

"Hello, Jessica," Aunt Cecelia said.

"Hi, Aunt Cecelia," Jessi answered. She didn't sound the least bit nervous. Jessi once told me that she always imagined scary music playing whenever she thought of Aunt Cecelia "Come on in."

"Hello, Mary Rose," Aunt Cecelia said, holding out her arms for a hug. Mary Rose looked at her, then tightened her grip on Jessi's belt loop. I thought for sure that she was going to pull it right off. "Oh, sweetie, it's okay. I don't bite."

"Hard," I whispered, trying to sound like Austin Powers. However, impressions are not my strong point.

"What was that, Rebecca?"

"Nothing."

"We'll be home later tonight, okay?" Jessi said as she pried Mary Rose's fingers off her belt loop. "You're going to have fun with Aunt Cecelia tonight, aren't you?" Mary Rose nodded, and Jessi transferred her hand to Aunt Cecelia's while giving her some instructions, then we went out the door.

_Tonight's going to be great, _I thought as Jessi, Manette, and I got in their truck to go to the theater.

As you'd expect, the street outside the theater was jam-packed. I'm just glad that Manette had the presence of mind to let me off at the stage door before he and Jessi found a place to park.

"Break a leg," Jessi said as I got out of the truck.

"Thanks," I answered, then I headed through the stage door.

About forty-five minutes later, I was ready. I had about an hour to kill before I had to get in my place. I took out my copy of _Roots. _I'm currently up to the part where Kizzy is born.

I was up to the part where Kizzy is sold away when Grace Walker came up to me. I'd heard a lot about Grace from Stacey. When Stacey moved back to New York—and when my family moved into her old house—Grace and her family had lived in Stacey's building, and they had been her favorite sitting charges. Grace is twenty, and is majoring in Drama at NYU. Her brother Henry is an architect, and recently moved down to Baltimore. They're really nice people, too.

"Hi, Becca," she said warmly as sat down beside me.

"Hi, Grace," I said. "Jessi and Manette are here tonight."

"So are Sam and Stacey."

"All _right!" _I exclaimed. I hadn't seen them in a while. "How are they?"

"They're doing okay. The kids are doing well, too, and keeping them busy."

"Didn't we all?"

Stacey is one of Jessi's friends, as well as Charlotte's favorite baby-sitter and "almost-sister". You see, Charlotte had been Stacey's favorite Stoneybrook sitting charge, and Dr. Johanssen had even helped Stacey through some rough patches with her diabetes. Since Stacey knew she'd be high-risk because of it, she and Sam have two adopted kids. Sven, who's from Sweden, is seven, has Down's syndrome, and is in the special ed class at Jason and Bebe Everett's old school on Long Island. Siobhan (pronounced "shuh-BONN"), who's Mary Rose's age, is from Haiti, and was adopted from there a few weeks before the earthquake hit Port-au-Prince.

"Hannah Papadakis is baby-sitting for Sam and Stacey's kids tonight," Grace told me. I couldn't help smiling. Hannah works the day shift as a nurse's aide at Mt. Sinai Hospital, where Stacey once told me she'd been born. Hannah and I went to different schools in Stoneybrook, until we got to high school. She was a year behind me, but was always a good friend, and we were also in the Stoneybrook Kids together.

Before too long, Paige Griffin, the stage manager, called, "Places!"

"Well, break a leg, Becca," Grace said.

"You, too."

It's showtime, folks!

After the show, I saw Jessi and Manette, Sam and Stacey, and Jake and Charlotte. "Hi!" I cried ecstatically. And you should've seen the look on Charlotte's face when she saw me. Her eyes got as big as an owl's, and she had the world's biggest grin on her face.

"BECCA!" she shrieked. We ran to each other, giggling, and squealing like we were eight years old again. Before too long, everyone else joined in. It was great to see everyone. I actually hadn't seen Jake and Charlotte since their college graduation, but as for Sam and Stacey, not since last spring.

"How have you guys been?" I asked as we finished hugging.

"Oh, I can't really complain," Charlotte answered. "Work's been good to me, and Jake loves coaching at the high school."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Recently when we talked, you told me about your friend, Marcus. How did that situation go?"

"He moved out a few weeks ago, and into an apartment about twenty minutes away," she answered. "We still see each other at work, though."

"That's good," I answered.

I'm told that Marcus had literally put Jake and Charlotte through the mill by acting like he wore the pants, and treating them like little kids. _If I ever have a roommate like that, they wouldn't even last a week, _I thought.

"Yeah, he was such a dick," Jake told me. "I'm just glad he changed his attitude."

"You and me both," I agreed.

"Oh, before I forget," Charlotte interrupted. "I have something to show you."

"What?"

Charlotte smiled even wider, and held out her left hand. On her ring finger was a yellow-gold ring with an egg-shaped diamond in the center, and two square diamonds on the sides.

"No way!" I exclaimed. "Really?"

She nodded. In an instant, both of us were jumping up and down, screaming, and hugging each other. I'm not too sure, but I think I saw Jake covering his ears. (Okay, all together now: _"Women! Pfft!")_

"Have you set a date yet?" I asked as soon as we'd calmed down.

"We're thinking about the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend."

"That's great!"

"I've also picked out my wedding dress, but it's being altered, and I just had the first fitting."

"I can't wait to see it."

"Oh, and I asked Buddy Barrett to be my best man," Jake said.

"Really? Wow, I haven't seem him in ages," Charlotte grinned. "How's he doing?"

"Not bad. I talked to him on Facebook last night, and he says he loves it in San José."

"No ice or snow for him, huh?" I guessed. And considering how mean New England winters can be, who could blame him?  
"Nope. Anyway, he just finished law school and passed his bar exams. And get this: he's been assigned his first case. Hopefully, he'll get more than six cents if they win."

I couldn't help laughing. Apparently, I'm not the only one who reads too much Neil Simon! "And Becca, I'd be honored if you'd be my maid of honor," Charlotte said.

"I'd love to!" I grinned. "What color will my dress be?"

"Lilac."

"Great."

This was the best news ever.

After I changed out of my costume and went to meet Jessi and Manette at the stage door, I saw Quint in the parking lot, standing next to his car. "Hi, Becca," he said. I could tell he was feeling a little better.

"Hi," I answered. "How are you?"

"Well," he said. "My divorce was finalized today."

"Oh, that's awful," I said. "I'm so sorry, Quint."

"Thanks."

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Oh, I'll live," he said. "You know, I should've seen this coming. Everyone told us we barely knew each other, we weren't compatible, you name it, but instead of listening to them, we went to City Hall, woke up the first judge we could find, and had four years of—well, I wouldn't exactly call it wedded bliss. On the upside, we didn't have any kids or pets. We thought about it, but our schedules wouldn't permit it. As for the pets, cats give me asthma, and Diana's allergic to dogs."

I nodded. "Well, that's a plus, I suppose," I said. Even though I found Quint's pet remark funny, I had to force myself not to laugh. It just wasn't the right time to do so.

"Anyway, we're going to the cast party," Quint said. "How about you guys?"

"Sure," I grinned. I could tell he was thinking about the ride home he'd given me the night before. I know I was.

"Great," he smiled warmly. "Well, I'll see you there."

"Sure," I said as he got in his car. I don't know how big the grin on my face was, but I'm sure I looked like such a dork.

As sorry as I was for Quint's divorce, I was glad he was going with us. I thought maybe it was just the thing to keep his mind off things.

I think he thought so, too.


	19. Epilogue:  Becca

A/N: Yup, last chapter.

**EPILOGUE: Becca**

We had the cast party at a sports bar on 34th Street. With the exception of the Olympics, I was never into sports myself. But this play's director is a _major _Jets fan, and he'd heard they were playing against the 49ers; so, to no one's surprise, he insisted on having the cast party at his favorite sports bar. I'm also not a drinker, because anything with the slightest amount of alcohol gives me a headache. (Besides, Stacey's a diabetic and Jessi's pregnant, so of course they weren't drinking.) If you ask me, I would've preferred someplace a little quieter, like Sardi's or Joe Allen's, both of which are Stacey's favorites, but I had to settle for this. I guess that's what they mean by beggars can't be choosers, huh?

Anyway, Jessi, Manette, Quint, and I were playing a game of snooker. It's kind of like regular pool, except there are more balls used in the game, and it's not quite as easy. Jason Everett taught it to me and Jessi the summer before I started high school, and it took a while to get used to how it was played. I still remember how pissed off I was after I'd pocketed the cue ball for what seemed like the millionth time. I'd actually thrown the cue stick down and dropped the F-bomb at the top of my lungs. Luckily, nobody else was home, but that's one episode Jessi still hasn't quite gotten over. Which is why she was looking at me that way as I put down my drink—a virgin cuba libre, which is Coke with lime juice—and prepared to take my shot.

"Okay, just keep your eye on the ball, Becca," she said.

"Jessi, did anyone tell you that you're starting to sound like Kristy these days?" I asked.

"Actually, no," Jessi answered as she took a drink of water. "I don't know about you guys, but I kind of miss the Krushers, don't you?"

"A little," I admitted. "At least I'm not screaming 'nofe air, nofe air', like Claire Pike used to do."

"I would've rather heard that from you than what you did say that one time."

"Oh, will you get off it?" I asked.

"Hey, could you speed it up just a little, girls?" Manette asked as politely as he could manage. And with that, I hit the cue ball across the table with all the power I had. With lightning speed and precision, it clacked against the two red balls near the end of the table, knocking them apart, and sending the one on the left into the corner pocket.

"All _right!" _Jessi exclaimed as we high-fived. "Nice job, Sis!"

"Thanks," I grinned. Then, turning to Quint, I said, "Hey, Quint, it's still our turn, so you're up."

Apparently, Quint didn't seem to hear me. He was standing near the window watching the traffic go by. I could tell his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Quint? I said you're up."

"Huh?" he asked, turning around. "Oh, yeah." He took a sip of his Michelob Light and walked up to the table.

"Are you all right, _mon?" _Manette asked. "You seem a little preoccupied."

"Yeah. I'm still trying to deal with what happened today, but I'm hanging in there," Quint sighed.

"Look, Quint, I know you're upset, and I don't blame you," Jessi said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know I would be, if I were in your position. But I promise you that as painful as your divorce is, it will pass soon."

"I know, but it's still so hard," Quint said sadly. "I loved Diana. I mean—I really loved her, Jessi."

"She's right, you know," Manette added. "I felt the same way when my parents divorced. I was only twelve, and believe me, it's not an easy thing to go through. But they're both remarried now, and much happier, too. They're still good friends as well."

"Thanks, Manette," Quint said, managing to cheer up a little. "So, it's still our turn, Becca?"

"Yeah," I answered. Quint nodded, then took his spot at the table, and prepared to take his shot as Sam and Stacey came over to us.

"Hey, guys," Sam said. "We're going to call it a night. Stacey just got off the phone with the baby-sitter."

"How are things over there?" Jessi asked.

"Fine," Stacey answered. "Hannah said she just managed to calm Siobhan down after a nightmare, but other than that, they're finally asleep."

"The Baby-sitters Club still lives on," I commented.

"Yup," Stacey agreed. "Oh, did Jake and Charlotte leave? I was going to tell them good night and congrats."

"Yeah, about half an hour ago," I said. "Jake said he'd had enough of hanging around all these Jet-heads."

"Say no more," Sam smiled. "I'm a Patriots fan, but my cousin, Luke, just loves those damn Jets. The only team we agree on is the Celtics."

"Well, Sam, I wish I could throw in my two cents, but I'm just not a sports girl," I said apologetically.

"No problem," Sam said. After a quick round of hugs, good nights, and "good shows," Sam and Stacey were out the door.

I turned my attention back to the game, and saw that Quint had not only pocketed the blue ball, but also another red one. That meant he'd fouled, according to the rules. "Your turn, Jessi," he said. I'm not too sure, but from the tone of his voice, he seemed to be in a slightly better mood. I guessed that the game helped him take his mind off things.

The next day, I arrived at Jessi's late in the morning, and had a sandwich before Manette took me and Aunt Cecelia to the theater. I had two performances that day.

That evening after the show, we were all asked to meet in one of the rehearsal rooms downstairs, because Paige had an announcement. "Okay, people," she said, after making sure that we were all present and accounted for. "The cast list for _The Wiz _is being put up now. Please be sure to check it before you leave."

When I was ready, I ran to the backstage door, where I knew the list would be. The first character I saw was Dorothy. I followed my finger across the line to the name, and saw that it was mine. _"Yesss!" _I exclaimed, throwing my fist into the air, like Kristy used to do.

"Congratulations, Becca," Morgan said. I guess I was in my own world, because when I heard Morgan's voice, I spun around and there she was, smiling that famous Walter smile, as her parents would say.

"Thanks," I answered. "Did you get a part?"

She nodded. "I'm one of the Kalidahs," she said, pointing to her name on the list.

"Cool," I said. "Just think, come January, we'll be busting our asses getting ready for another show. I hope I'll be able to hit that high C at the end of 'Home', and we don't have to cancel any rehearsals due to weather."

Morgan nodded in agreement. "I can't wait, either."

"Oh, how's Quint?"

"He's hanging in there. You know, Becca, just between us, I liked Diana, but I never thought she and Quint were right for each other," Morgan said as we walked out the door and across the parking lot.

"Yeah, he was telling me something about that. He said opposites usually attract, but not this time."

"You know, that's the same thing he said to me," Morgan said as she unlocked her purple Volvo. "Well, I'll see you later. And good show tonight."

"You, too," I said. After watching her drive off, I ran across the street to get some dinner. I was still super-psyched about getting the part of Dorothy, but thankfully, I didn't miss the DON'T WALK sign and get run over.

When I arrived at the deli, I was surprised to see Quint waiting outside for me. "Hi, Becca," he said. "How was the show?"

"Great. Boy, those audiences were really alive. Today was mostly the after-church crowd, and tonight was even better."

"Yup, that's matinees for you," Quint agreed. "Uh, listen, can we talk?"

"Sure," I answered.

As soon as we got to a table, Quint cleared his throat and said, "Uh, look, you know I liked your sister a long time ago, right?"

I nodded. "I still remember Jessi and Mallory talking about the time you kissed her," I smiled. "I was standing in the kitchen doorway, and as soon as Jessi told Mal, I was like 'He kissed you? _Ewwww, _that is _soooo _disgusting!"

"You said that?" Quint exclaimed with a grin.

I nodded, while trying to stifle my laughter. "As soon as Jessi heard me, she got up and chased me out of the room. Oh, man, she was _pissed!"_

After we finished laughing, Quint took a sip of his tea and continued, "Well, anyway, you've grown into a beautiful, talented young woman."

"Thanks," I said. I could also feel myself blushing.

"I know I just got divorced, but I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime—say, between the time this show ends and when you start rehearsals for _The Wiz._"

I was speechless. This was the first time in my adult life that I'd ever been asked out on a date. I'd gone out on a few dates in Omar Harris when we were in high school, but this was different.

"Sure," I managed to say.

"Great. Just let me know when would be convenient for you."

"Okay." With that, we exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses as the waitress brought our food: a turkey sub with mayo, onion, lettuce and tomato for him, a veggie burger with the works for me, and peach iced tea for both of us.

It was already dark by the time we finished eating. "Well, I should get home now," I said, checking my watch. "I promised JJ I'd call him tonight."

"How's he been?"

"Pretty good," I answered as I opened my purse. "He just started his freshman year at Temple University, with a physical education major and a child psychology minor, which means that if you ask him a question about a child's behavior, he'll tell you to tell the child to take a lap."

"You've seen _Bill Cosby, Himself, _too many times," he grinned, shaking his head. "Say, do you need a ride home?"

"Sure, why not?" I answered. We paid for our food and left the deli.

At least he was letting his life go on, in spite of everything.

_The Color Purple _soon closed after thirteen performances: three on the opening weekend (one on Friday, two on Saturday), eight the following week (two on Saturday and Sunday, and one performance a day, Tuesday through Friday), and two the following Sunday. I also knew I had rehearsals for _The Wiz _to look forward to.

Between weekend performances, Quint would make a habit of meeting me at the deli, where I'd grab a quick meal and return to the theater. Then after the evening performances, I'd make a habit of going out with him, Morgan and her fiancé. He's also _The Wiz,_ playing the Lion_. _And youknow what? That part is tailor-made for him, being a great big guy with a great big voice.

Every time we'd see each other, I'd show him the latest pictures of Mary Rose. Once, I showed him the picture of Jessi's latest sonogram, which showed that she was going to have a boy.

"That's so cool," he said. "When's she due?"

"The end of March," I answered. "Oh, Claudia Kishi once told me that when her aunt was pregnant with her cousin, Claud had her aunt's sonogram pictures with her, and when Logan Bruno saw it, he thought it looked like some kind of underwater fungus."

As soon as I said that, Quint burst out laughing. That's when I noticed that his laugh sounded like he was hyperventilating, as well as high-pitched. I didn't want to tell him how girly his laugh sounded, but it did. I mean, _really._

But other than that, he was still pretty hot.

Before I knew it, it was December 1st. Since Jessi and I now live in New York, we'd split Kwanzaa up between the four homes. On the 26th and 27th, we'd have it at Mama and Daddy's. On the 28th, we'd have it with Aunt Cecelia. On the 29th and 30th, we'd have it at Jessi's, and on New Year's Eve, we'd have it at my place. We don't have the big family gatherings like we did when I was a kid, mostly because it's so hard for people to get together now. Kwanzaa is also a special time, because the year I was eight, Aunt Cecelia, Jessi, JJ, and I were in a car accident on our way home from Christmas shopping. Jessi and I weren't hurt, but it still shook us up big-time. Aunt Cecelia not only had minor injuries, but she also got the brilliant idea to let Jessi unbuckle JJ from his carseat, and he got a concussion from falling on the floor. He spent several days in the hospital, but thank God, he was able to come home on Christmas Day. I wasn't able to go with the family to pick him up, mostly because I was getting over the flu, so Kristy ended up baby-sitting me that day. And best of all, he has no ill effects from the experience. I don't think he even remembers it, for that matter.

Soon, Christmas Eve had arrived. I'd just put the last of the tinsel on my 12-inch tree when I heard the intercom buzz. "Yeah?" I answered as I pressed the button.

"Hi, Becca."

"Quint! Hi!" I exclaimed. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. Hey, I brought you a little something."

"Sure, come on up." I buzzed him in and hurried into the kitchen to get a couple of glasses and the eggnog out of the fridge. I have the Southern Comfort brand, and the Christmas of Jake and Charlotte's senior year of college, they came to visit. When Jake saw that it was non-alcoholic, he said, "Becca, I thought you were starting to turn cool."

Anyway, back to the door. When I opened it, there stood Quint with a chicken casserole. "There's some okra in there," he said as he handed it to me.

I won't lie to you, the idea of okra in a chicken casserole sounded anything but appetizing. "Chicken casserole with _okra?_ Are you pregnant?" I asked incredulously. And I thought patrami and olives sounded bad!

"That's how my Grandma Walter always made it. I tried it for the first time when I was six, and I thought I'd hate it, but I've developed a taste for it over the years."

"Oh. Well, thanks," I said as I set the dish on the kitchen counter. "What's this for?"

"For being the best friend a guy ever had, and helping me along the way."

Just then, the last song on _The Wiz _CD ended, and the CD changer changed it to another CD. It was then that I remembered it was the Anne Murray CD that my cousin Keisha got for me when I graduated from Julliard, because a particular song began to play:

_"I cried a tear, you wiped it dry_

_ I was confused, you cleared my mind'_

_ I sold my soul, you bought it back for me_

_ And held me up and gave me liberty_

_ Somehow, you needed me..."_

Quint held out his hand. "Want to dance?" he asked.

"Sure," I answered. I turned up the volume on the stereo, tossed the remote onto the couch, then took his hand as the song continued:

_"You gave me strength to stand alone again_

_ To face the world out on my own again_

_ You put me high up on a pedestal_

_ So high that I could almost see eternity_

_ You needed me, you needed me..."_

"Merry Christmas, Becca," Quint whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Quint," I said softly.

I snuggled closer and put my head on his shoulder. On that night, I can quite honestly say that I'd never felt happier or more thankful in a long time. I was thankful to have my family and my wonderful circle of friends that I was fortunate enough to grow up with, to lean on, and to be there for. I was thankful that I was lucky enough to grow up happy, healthy, and doing the one thing I loved more than anything else in the world. But most of all, I was so, so thankful to know a guy as sweet, talented, and wonderful as Quint Walter, and that he was able to move on with his life after what he'd just been through with his divorce and all. And you know what? As we danced to the soft, gentle music and Anne's gentle, mellow voice, this was probably the best thing I could've ever asked for.

**THE END**


End file.
